native mother skill, doubtless because for many 

 generations she has been relieved of the larger 

 part of the responsibility. I never knew one to 

 doctor her infants for vermin. But the wild 

 hen will. The woods are full of ticks and de- 

 testable vermin as deadly as cold rains. When 

 her brood begins to lag and pine, the mother 

 knows, and leading them to some old ant-hill, 

 she gives them a sousing dust-bath. The vermin 

 hate the odor of the ant-scented dust, and after 

 a series of washings disappear. 



This is wise ; but if report be true, then the 

 wild turkey is as wise and far-seeing a mother as 

 the woods contain. One observer tells of three 

 hens that stole off together and fixed up a nest 

 between themselves. Each put in her eggs— 

 forty-two in all— and each took turns guarding, 

 so that the nest was never left alone. 



What special enemy caused this unique part- 

 nership the naturalist does not say. The three 

 mothers built together, brooded together, and 

 together guarded the nest. But how did those 

 three mothers divide the babies? 



Every one who has had the least to do with 

 turkeys knows their timidity and indecision. 

 [270] 



