134 



DECEMBER IN BROADLAND. 



of a green woodpecker, whose 

 anticipations of an abundant 

 meal, hiding behind the de- 

 caying bark upon a willow- 

 bole just beneath it, are not 

 far out. We remain motion- 

 less; as yet the fine bird 

 with his yellow-green coat 

 and crimson cap has not es- 

 pied us. At a snail's pace 

 we bring the glasses to our 

 eyes. How the fellow is 

 chipping the bark to splin- 

 ters ! Now he has exposed 



THE GAMEKEEPER AND 

 HIS MUSEUM. 



the trunk to view. It is a grand 

 time he is having amongst the 

 ' armadilloes' that, so unexpected- 

 ly brought to light, are too stupe- 

 fied to seek fresh shelter. 



|^ We reach the small red drain- 



age-pump. Its sails are not re- 

 volving. A strange noise, sound- 

 ing very like the rushing of wind 

 through the pump-sails we in- 

 stinctively imagine as such, but 

 an alarm cry, as of a plover, makes 

 us as suddenly look up. It was 

 not the wind, but the rustle of a hundred pairs of 

 wings, and that cry was the wail of a golden plo- 

 ver. They are migrating. We observe no other 



