BIRD STORIES 



chanced to come near her own mangrove bush. Then 

 she and her mate would raise the feathers on the top of 

 their heads until they looked rather fierce and bristly, 

 and spread out their filmy capes of dainty plumes in a 

 threatening way. That criss-cross pile of old dead twigs 

 was a dear home after all, being lined, you will remem- 

 ber, with the love of Ardea and her mate; and they both 

 guarded it as well as they were able. 



At last the quiet brooding days came to an end, and 

 four funny little herons wobbled about in Ardea's nest. 

 Their long legs and toes stuck out in all directions, and 

 they could n't seem to help sprawhng around. If there 

 had been string or strands of moss or grass in the nest, 

 they would probably have got all tangled up. As it was, 

 they sometimes nearly spilled out, and saved themselves 

 only by clinging to the firm sticks and twigs. So it 

 would seem that their home was a good sort for the 

 needs of their early life, just as it was; and no doubt a 

 heron's nest for a heron is as suitable a building as an 

 oriole's is for an oriole. 



It would take some time before the babies of Ardea 

 would be able to straighten up on their long, slim legs and 

 go wading. Until that day came, their father and mother 

 would have to feed them well and often. Now the marsh 

 where the snowy herons went fishing, where the shallow 

 water was a favorite swimming-place for little fishes, 



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