TURKEYS 105 



into the forest, and to the foot of that mighty 

 pine. She was not there, neither were her chicks. 



The mother love, suspicious, primeval, alert, 

 had prompted her to find a new hiding-place. 

 I would pit my wits against hers. Not to inter- 

 fere with nature, but to keep her in sight, to study 

 her cunning, to learn her secret. 



I hunted so long that night that on my return 

 in the darkness I bumped into trees and stubs, 



"I scratched my hands, and tore my hair, 

 But still did not complain." 



The next morning at daybreak, and the next 

 night at dusk, and for many, many weary days and 

 nights, I searched, and peered, and sneaked, and 

 spied, and climbed trees, and skinned and barked 

 and abraded myself in various tender places. 



" Donati lived, and long you might have seen 

 An old man wandering as in search of something, 

 Something he could not find, he knew not what." 



In vain my search. I never saw her again, nor 

 did I ever see her chicks, and to this day their 

 disappearance is a mystery. 



It seemed to me that the old cock sympathized 

 with my grief. At least he did not seem the same 

 turkey, and he began to follow me around. It 

 may have been that he was considering the ad- 

 visability of giving me a poke with his iron beak. 

 But if so, he never did. 



