LEARNING BIRD LANGUAGE 211 



I learned the tribal call of the king rail in the 

 hope of locating him in a swamp, so that I could 

 find and picture his young; but while I could 

 win a reply easily enough, I never could get near 

 enough to secure anything save an effect of snakes 

 in the grass, as he darted among the rushes. 



That I could speak shitepoke with sufficient 

 fluency to get a reply, I also learned by accident. 

 I was driving east of the Cabin, south, with a 

 helper, over the levee which crosses the Valley of 

 the Wood Robin, on a trip to the old Aspy orchard. 

 A shitepoke flew up south of us, crossed the road 

 before us, and perched in a scraggy, dead top limb 

 of a big sycamore north of the road. 



"That is a shitepoke, isn't it.''" asked the lad. 



"It is," I answered. 



"What does it say.^"" questioned the boy, who 

 was a lover of birds and one of my most ardent 

 helpers. 



"Conk, couk, couk!" I answered. 



"Conk, couk, couk!" instantly replied the 

 shitepoke. 



In amazement, we stared at each other. He 

 slackened the horse to a walk, whispering: "Call 

 again!" 



I turned, stood on my knees on the seat, and, 

 shielded by the raised carriage top, cupped my 

 hands around my mouth and did my best. The 

 bird replied immediately. I waited a second and 

 called with greater caution, with accent and in- 



