30I 



curious sound, a hollow tunk^ iunk, tunk, 



tunk-a-tunk, grew louder as I approached. I 



stole to the big cedar, where I could see the 7Ci7ioo/eef, 



fireplace and the little opening before my '^'*'^, 



tent, and noticed first that I had left the Voice 



cracker box open (it was almost empty) when 



I hurried away after the otter. The curious 



sound was inside, growing more eager every 



moment — tunk^ tunk, tunk-a-trrrrrrr-runk, 



iunk, tunk ! 



I crept on my hands and knees to the box, 

 to see what queer thing had found his way 

 to the crackers, and peeped cautiously over 

 the edge. There were Killooleet, and Mrs. 

 Killooleet, and the five little Killooleets, just 

 seven hopping brown backs and bobbing 

 heads, helping themselves to the crackers. 

 And the sound of their bills on the empty 

 box made the jolliest tattoo that ever came 

 out of a camping kit. 



I crept away more cautiously than I 

 had come and, standing carelessly in my 

 tent door, whistled the call I always used 

 in feeding the birds. Like a flash Killoo- 

 leet appeared on the edge of the cracker box, 



