CHAPTER XXV.
AN ELBADRITCHEL HUNT.
Fritz Schmidt, like many another Bucks County boy, had frequently heard the rural tale of a mythical bird called the "Elbadritchel," supposed to be abroad, particularly on cold, dark, stormy nights, when the wind whistled and blew perfect gales around exposed corners of houses and barns.

'Twas a common saying among "Pennsylvania Germans," at such times, "'Tis a fine night to catch 'Elbadritchels.'" [Illustration: CATCHING ELBADRITCHELS] For the information of those who may not even have heard of this remarkable creature, it is described as being a cross between a swallow, a goose and a lyre bird.

Have you ever seen an "Elbadritchel ?" No one has to my certain knowledge, so I cannot vouch for the truth of this description of it.
Fritz Schmidt had never taught to question the truth of the tale.

So, when one cold, stormy night several boys from neighboring farms drove up to the Schmidt homestead and asked Fritz to join them in a hunt for "Elbadritchels," he unhesitatingly agreed to make one of the number, unaware that he had been selected as the victim of a practical joke, and, as usual, was one of the jolliest of the crowd.

They drove through a blinding downpour of rain and dismounted on reaching a lonely hill about three miles distant.