IN QUEST OF A NIGHT-ROOST 207 



all soaked and headless. A bivouac on a Sep- 

 tember night, without blanket or fire, is not the 

 acme of comfort, so I chose the lesser evil and 

 turned away homeward. That marsh by night 

 was a weird place, and those miles of trail were 

 now leagues, but by the time I reached my desti- 

 nation, I was possessed of two firm and well- 

 founded convictions; first, that when one wades 

 a deep marsh, it is well to carry matches in a 

 shirt pocket or hat-band; and second, I had had 

 a great, grand interesting day out among the 

 birds. 



