Everything is done that he knows to make life pleasant, and of
nothing is he more careful than the comfort of his couch. On the
second day, under guidance of his host, Rolf set about making his
own bed. Two logs, each four inches thick and three feet long,
were cut. Then two strong poles, each six feet long, were laid
into notches at the ends of the short logs. About seventy-five
straight sticks of willow were cut and woven with willow bark
into a lattice, three feet wide and six feet long. This, laid on
the poles, furnished a spring mattress, on which a couple of
blankets made a most comfortable couch, dry, warm, and off the
ground. In addition to the lodge cover, each bed had a dew cloth
which gave perfect protection, no matter how the storm might rage
outdoors. There was no hardship in it, only a new-found
pleasure, to sleep and breathe the pure night air of the woods.

The Grass Moon - April - had passed, and the Song Moon was
waxing, with its hosts of small birds, and one of Rolf's early
discoveries was that many of these love to sing by night. Again
and again the familiar voice of the song sparrow came from the
dark shore of Asamuk, or the field sparrow trilled from the top
of some cedar, occasionally the painted one, Aunakeu, the
partridge, drummed in the upper woods, and nightly there was the
persistent chant of Muckawis, the whippoorwill, the myriad voices
of the little frogs called spring-peepers, and the peculiar,
"peent, peent," from the sky, followed by a twittering, that
Quonab told him was the love song of the swamp bird -- the big
snipe, with the fantail and long, soft bill, and eyes like a
deer.

"Do you mean the woodcock?"