THE RAILS 251 



"I wasn't whistling, sir," he rephed softly; "that was a 

 spotted rail." 



And we both listened — the fish splashing, and the reeds 

 rustling in the breeze, when again the whistle came from a 

 gladen-bush near by. 



Getting into my boat, I pushed over the sleeping waters, 

 and through the dozing water-plants, when the whistle 

 sounded on my left, farther away. For long I listened 

 on that still summer night, hearing the bird first here and 

 then there, now close by, now afar off, with its strange 

 whistle. And the northern sky was growing bright with 

 the breaking day ere I returned to my bed, that strange 

 inhuman whistle ringing in my ears. I have heard their 

 voices a few times since ; but the bird is rare indeed to-day 

 in the Broadlands, and almost extinct. Indeed, in another 

 twenty-five years it too will be silent. 



The Water-Rail 



Is a lover of moisture. No sooner does April come with 

 its soft showers, bedewing the reeds and rushes by the 

 Broad-edge, than you may hear the rails sharming — making 

 that hollow, clucking, snipe-like noise that resembles water 

 being poured from a half-empty bottle — a hollow, gurgling 

 sound : the courting voice. If you be lucky, and get a 

 view of the cock at this season, you will see him set his 

 feathers out and gurgle in his glee. And if you wish to 

 find his nest (and the end of April is the surest time for 

 you to search), go you down to the ronds, or on the marshes, 

 where the water lies an inch or two deep, and a fresh crop 

 of chate, sedge, soft rushes, flourishes; or else seek clumps 

 of broken-down gladen or amber-reed, or heaps of litter- 

 washings fringed with foam, or laid rushes lying near the 

 water, for in all those places the rails delight to build. 

 And if you do hear a bird gurgle or groan, look well for 

 their runs in the moist water-plants — distinct paths dotted 



