Where Silence Is Eloquent 



very different scenes, in the interior of Newfound- 

 land. Coming down beside a salmon river one 

 day, my Indian, a remarkable man with an almost 

 uncanny power of calling wild creatures of every 

 kind, pointed to a hole high on the side of a stub, 

 and said, "Go, knock-urn dere; see if woodpecker 

 at home/' I went and knocked softly, but noth- 

 ing happened. "Knock-um again, knock-um lit- 

 tle louder," said Matty. I knocked again, more 

 lustily, and again nothing happened. Then the 

 Indian came and rapped the tree with his knuckles, 

 while I stood aside; and instantly a woodpecker 

 that was brooding her eggs stuck her head out of 

 the hole and looked down at her visitor inquisi- 

 tively. 



The next day at the same place we repeated 

 the same performance precisely, after our morning 

 fishing; and again the interesting thing to me 

 was, not the bird's instant appearance at the 

 Indian's summons, but the curiously intent way in 

 which she turned her head to look down at him. 

 When he showed his craft again and again, at the 

 doors of other woodpeckers that were not inter- 

 ested in my knocking, I demanded, "Now, Matty, 

 tell me how you do it." 



But Matty only laughed. When we are alone 

 in the woods he has a fine sense of humor, though 

 grim enough at other times. "Oh, woodpecker 

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