222 WITH THE U. S. NATURALISTS 



callin' him the 'Feather Man.' He ain't never 

 seemed to mind, so the name's stuck." 



''Where is his place?" 



"Right through the laurels on the north end 

 of the mangrove swamp by Bullfrog Pond. ' ' 



' ' I know that part, ' ' said Shan ; " I 've been there 

 birds '-nesting more than once." 



"Yo' have?" Bull looked at his nephew. 

 "Yo're lucky to have yo' two eyes then. 'An eye 

 for a nest, ' he said. Don 't yo ' tell him yo 've been 

 robbin' nests on his land or yo'll come back with 

 only one eye, an' then I'll have to pick up my gun 

 to square the .deal. ' ' 



"I'm not afraid," said Shan; "he was all right 

 to you. Tell me, after I leave the laurel, which 

 is the way, then?" 



"Follow the ridge till yo' come to the marsh," 

 came the reply. "Turn north a ways over soft 

 ground and yo'll see a patch o' chestnut. The 

 house is right in there. It's painted a smudgy 

 yellow, leastways, it was when I went," 



"How long ago!" 



Bull pondered. 



"Three years, I reckon," he said. 



"I'll go there to-morrow," said Shan with deter- 

 mination; "I'm not going to have cats around my 



