64 WAKE-ROBIN 
ings, or toward nightfall, you hear the hum of his 
devoted wings. He selects not, as you would pre- 
dict, a dry and resinous log, but a decayed and 
crumbling one, seeming to give the preference to 
old oak-logs that are partly blended with the soil. 
If a log to his taste cannot be found he sets up his 
altar on a rock, which becomes resonant beneath his 
fervent blows. Who has seen the partridge drum? 
It is the next thing to catching a weasel asleep, 
though by much caution and tact it may be done. 
He does not hug the log, but stands very erect, 
expands his ruff, gives two introductory blows, 
pauses half a second, and then resumes, striking 
faster and faster till the sound becomes a continu- 
ous, unbroken whir, the whole lasting less than 
half a minute. The tips of his wings barely brush 
the log, so that the sound is produced rather by the 
force of the blows upon the air and upon his own 
body as in flying. One log will be used for many 
years, though not by the same drummer. It seems 
to be a sort of temple and held in great respect. 
The bird always approaches on foot, and leaves it 
in the same quiet manner, unless rudely disturbed. 
He is very cunning, though his wit is not profound. 
It is difficult to approach him by stealth; you will 
try many times before succeeding; but seem to pass 
by him in a great hurry, making all the noise pos- 
sible, and with plumage furled he stands as immov- 
able as a knot, allowing you a good view, and a good 
shot if you are a sportsman. 
' Passing along one of the old Barkpeelers’ roads 
