When it’s Spring in the North Woods and things begin to awaken from their long Winter’s sleep. The woods and marshes change completely. Everything is full of life and movement; the woods resound with songs and calls of every description, many of which seem strange and weird.
    It is at this time that the old woodsmen bring out their story of the callopode. “Listen to him making his music ring through the woods,” one of them will say. “He’s a jolly creature, he is. Many’s the time I’ve seen him a-playing. He breathes in through a hollow topknot in his head and breathes out through his long trumpetlike nose. Then he plays tunes with his fingers on two rows of holes on his chest. He has about six or seven fingers on each hand. The number changes. I’ve noticed, with different callopodes.”