A RED-HEADED FAMIL Y. 7 



The " snag " was a stump some fifty feet tall, 

 barkless, smooth, almost as white as chalk, 

 the decaying remnant of what had once been 

 the grandest pine on the tussock. 



" Hello, yer' ! Hit's ben to work some more 

 sence I wer' yer' las' time. Hit air done dug 

 another hole ! " 



As he spoke he pointed indicatively, with 

 his long, knotty fore-finger. I looked and 

 saw two large round cavities, not unlike im- 

 mense auger-holes, running darkly into the 

 polished surface of the stump, one about six 

 feet below the other, the lower twenty-five feet 

 above the ground. Surely it was no very strik- 

 ing picture, this bare, weather-whitened col- 

 umn, with its splintered top and its two orifices, 

 and yet I do not think it was a weakness for 

 me to feel a thrill of delight as I gazed at it. 

 How long and how diligently I had sought the 

 home of Camp ephilus princip alls , the great king 

 of the red-headed family, and at last I stood 

 before its door ! 



At my request, the kind Cracker now left 

 me alone to prosecute my observations. 



" Be in ter dinner ? " he inquired as he 

 turned to go. 



" No ; supper," I responded. 



" Well, tek cyare ev yerself," and off he went 

 into the thickest part of the cypress. 



I waited awhile for the solitude to regain its 

 equilibrium after the slashing tread of my 

 friend had passed out of hearing ; then I stole 

 softly to the stump and tapped on it with the 

 handle of my knife. This I repeated several 

 times. Campephilus was not at home, for if he 

 had been I should have seen a long, strong^ 

 ivory-white beak thrust out of the hole up there, 



