160 OUT WITH THE BIRDS 



flow channels joining it here and there. The low 

 edges of the stream — they cannot be called banks 

 — support a thick wall of plumed yellow reeds 

 that rise ten and twelve feet above the water and 

 shut out completely everything beyond the creek. 

 These brakes are the home of the marsh wrens 

 and the Carolina rails. The former chattered at 

 us saucily and peered out and perked their tails 

 as we stole by ; and the rails, surprised not more 

 than six inches from their reedy fortress, just 

 faded back into the shallows. Once one fellow 

 fluttered clear across the stream, with such a 

 ludicrous flight that it seemed that the twenty 

 yards was going to prove too much for him. At 

 the neck of a lagoon a lone bittern was standing, 

 and when he saw us his beak slowly stole sky- 

 ward, and he posed thus, without another move- 

 ment, as we went by. He was probably fishing 

 — which as applied to a bittern is rather a broad 

 term, embracing the pursuit of water-insects, 

 minnows, tadpoles, snakes, and salamanders. 

 All are fish when he is hunting. 



Three or four bends up from the mouth of the 

 creek is a strip of solid bank, and here we pulled 

 ashore and boiled the kettle. Then we slipped 

 into the shade of the tall reeds, threw down the 



