Their guns were found to be none the worse for their ducking; the loads, of course, were wet, and had to be drawn, but a good coat of oil, and a thorough rubbing inside and out, made them look as good as new.

During the afternoon, as the boys sat on the piazza in front of the house, talking over the events of the morning, their attention was attracted by a combat that was going on between one of Frank’s pet kingbirds and a red-headed woodpecker.  The latter was flying zigzag through the air, and the kingbird was pecking him most unmercifully.  At length the woodpecker took refuge in a tree that stood on the bank of the creek, and then seemed perfectly at his ease.  He always kept on the opposite side of the tree, and the kingbird, active as he was, could not reach him.  His loud, angry twittering soon brought his mate to his assistance, and then the woodpecker found himself between two fires.  After trying in vain to elude them, he suddenly popped into a hole in the tree, and stuck out his long bill, as if defying them to enter.  The kingbirds were completely outwitted; and, after making two or three angry darts at the hole in which their cunning enemy had taken refuge, they settled down on the branches close by to wait until he should show himself.  They had no intention of giving up the contest.  The woodpecker seemed to take matters very coolly, and improved his time by pounding away industriously on the inside of the tree.  Occasionally he would thrust his head out of the hole, but, seeing his enemies still on the watch, he would dodge back, and go to work again.

After waiting fully a quarter of an hour for him to come out, and seeing that the kingbirds had no idea of “raising the siege,” Archie concluded (to age his own expression) that he “might as well lend a little assistance.”  So he ran round to the shop, and, having procured an ax, he went up to the tree, and dealt it a heavy blow.  The next moment the woodpecker flew out, and the kingbirds were after him in an instant They followed him until he reached the woods, and then returned to the cottage.

CHAPTER XIII.

A ’Coon-Hunt.

We might relate many more interesting events that transpired before the hunting season set in; we might tell of the “tall times” the boys had whipping the trout-streams, of the trials of speed that came off on the river, when it turned out, as Archie had predicted, that Charles Morgan’s sloop “couldn’t sail worth a row of pins;” and we might tell of many more desperate “scrapes” that came off between the bully and his sworn enemies the Hillers; but we fear, reader, you are already weary of the Young Naturalist’s home-life, and long to see him engaging in his favorite recreations—­roaming through the woods, with his gun on his shoulder, or dealing death among the ducks on the river.

Well, autumn came at length; and, early one chilly, moonlight evening, Frank and his cousin, accompanied by George and Harry, might have been seen picking their way across the meadow at the back of Mrs. Nelson’s lot, and directing their course toward a large cornfield, that lay almost in the edge of a piece of thick woods, about a quarter of a mile distant.