The American Woodcock 311 



and in the other sufficient American Rubber to 

 form a serpentine and slightly leaky garden hose. 



I do not know how many boys may understand 

 the poetry of digging bait. This is it. When 

 you want to go fishing next morning, or when 

 the pater wants to go, and tells you to procure 

 bait or expect trouble — dorit dig! Digging is 

 hard and frequently uncertain work. Instead, 

 volunteer to sprinkle the lawn, and give it a 

 thorough soaking — sufficient water means suc- 

 cess. About midnight, take a strong light and 

 go over the wetted surface, and you will find 

 worms a-plenty crawling through the grass, and 

 they will be the fattest and finest kind of worms 

 too — in fact, such worms as the woodcock knows 

 he will find when he makes a flying trip to the 

 freshly watered lawn. 



Another interesting point is this. An old 

 (colored) naturalist once told me that the cock 

 danced on the ground and often tapped with the 

 tip of his bill to make the worms come to the 

 surface. This I did not then believe, but a riper 

 experience has taught me that there frequently 

 is a trace of truth in many apparently ridiculous 

 statements. 



While many people know that a heavy blow 

 upon the ground — like the stroke of a spade 

 — will cause near-by worms to shrink deeper into 

 their tunnels, perhaps not so many are aware 



