Killooleets, just seven hopping brown backs and bobbing heads, helping
themselves to the crackers. And the sound of their bills on the empty
box made the jolliest tattoo that ever came out of a camping kit.

I crept away more cautiously than I had come, and, standing carelessly
in my tent door, whistled the call I always used in feeding the birds.
Like a flash Killooleet appeared on the edge of the cracker box,
looking very much surprised. "I thought you were away; why, I thought
you were away," he seemed to be saying. Then he clucked, and the
_tunk-a-tunk_ ceased instantly. Another cluck, and Mrs. Killooleet
appeared, looking frightened; then, one after another, the five little
Killooleets bobbed up; and there they sat in a solemn row on the edge
of the cracker box, turning their heads sidewise to see me better.

"There!" said Killooleet, "didn't I tell you he wouldn't hurt you?"
And like five winks the five little Killooleets were back in the box,
and the _tunk-a-tunking_ began again.

This assurance that they might do as they pleased, and help themselves
undisturbed to whatever they found, seemed to remove the last doubt
from the mind of even the little gray mate. After that they stayed
most of the time close about my tent, and were never so far away, or
so busy insect hunting, that they would not come when I whistled and
scattered crumbs. The little Killooleets grew amazingly, and no
wonder! They were always eating, always hungry. I took good pains to
give them less than they wanted, and so had the satisfaction of
feeding them often, and of finding their tin plate picked clean
whenever I came back from fishing.

Did the woods seem lonely to Killooleet when we paddled away at last