THE PrLE-DEIVEE. 177 



As we sat, in the greyness of twilight, in front of onr 

 tents, a curious sound came over the lake from the opposite 

 shore, so like civilization that it startled us for a moment. 

 Here we were, fifty miles from a house, away in the forest 

 beyond the sound of anything savoring of human agency, 

 and yet we heard distinctly what was for all the world like 

 the blows of an axe or hammer upon a stake, driving it into 

 the earth. It had the peculiar ring, which any one will re- 

 cognise who has driven a stake into ground covered with 

 water, by blows given by the side instead of the head of an 

 axe. These blows were given at intervals so regular, that 

 we all suspended smoking, certain that there were other 

 sportsmen beside ourselves in the neighborhood of this lake. 



" Who in the world is that ?" asked Smith, of Martin, who 

 seemed to enjoy onr astonishment. 



"That," replied Martin, "is a gentleman known in these 

 parts as the ' Pile-driver.' He visits all these lakes in the 

 summer season, and though, as a general thing, he travels 

 alone, yet he sometimes has half a dozen friends with him. 

 If you'll listen a moment, may be you'll find that he has 

 a friend in the neighborhood now who will drive a pile in 

 another place." 



Sure enough, in a moment the same ringing blows came 

 from a reedy spot in a different part of the bay. 



" The bird that makes that noise," said Martin, "is about 

 the homeliest creature in these woods. It is a small grey 

 heron, that lights down among the grass and weeds to hunt 

 for small frogs and such little fish as swim along the shore. 



8* 



