WINTER PICTURES 229 



was slow to realize that here was the most notable 

 game of that part of Virginia, for the sight of which 

 sportsmen's eyes do water. As she was fairly on 

 the wing, I sent my robin-shot after her; but they 

 made no impression, and I stood and watched with 

 great interest her long, level flight. As she neared 

 the end of the clearing, she set her wings and sailed 

 straight into the corner of the woods. I found no 

 robins, but went back satisfied with having seen 

 the turkey, and having had an experience that I 

 knew would stir up the envy and the disgust of my 

 companions. They listened with ill-concealed im- 

 patience, stamped the ground a few times, uttered 

 a vehement protest against the caprice of fortune 

 that always puts the game in the wrong place or 

 the gun in the wrong hands, and rushed off in 

 quest of that turkey. She was not where they 

 looked, of course; and, on their return about sun- 

 down, when they had ceased to think about their 

 game, she flew out of the top of a pine-tree not 

 thirty rods from camp, and in full view of them, 

 but too far off for a shot. 



In my wanderings that afternoon, I came upon 

 two negro shanties in a small triangular clearing in 

 the woods; no road but only a footpath led to them. 

 Three or four children, the eldest a girl of twelve, 

 were about the door of one of them. I approached 

 and asked for a drink of water. The girl got a 

 glass and showed me to the spring near by. 



"We 's grandmover's daughter's chilern,'' she 

 said, in reply to my inquiry. Their mother worked 



