io8 Bird -Lore 



He was a most ungainly looking creature as he squatted on the lawn, wings 

 outspread and bill snapping, ready to defend himself against any foe. His 

 feathers were all quite buffy and were fluffy about the shoulders; his legs and 

 feet were bright green'sh yellow or yellowish green, and very, very clean. His 

 bill was yellow and he had a yellow ring about the eye. 



We meant to take him back to his home, but he escaped and went down to 

 the brook. The next day we saw the old bird fly up toward the pond and we 

 supposed she had found him. 



One day shortly after the capture of the young Bittern, we went out to the 

 pond to see the water-lilies, and tried to get some that grew near the bank 

 (the pond was so low that there was a muddy margin of a foot or more all around 

 it). Stooping to get a perfect flower, we were startled by a peculiar sound — 

 k-r-r-r-r-r. We could not imagine what it could be; nothing was to be seen, so 

 we moved along the side cautiously, when k-r-r-r-r-r came the sound again. 

 This time we decided that it came from a clump of water-grasses; so, very cau- 

 tiously, we advanced and, for the third time, heard k-r-r-r-r-r, and looking over 

 the clump saw the young Bittern squatting on the mud, wings outspread, on the 

 alert for the enemy. 



The second time we saw one of the old birds fly up the brook to the pond, 

 we hurried along to get another glimpse; but not a bird could we see, so turned 

 away reluctantly, giving one last backward look. That moment of turning away 

 was the old bird's opportunity (although how she knew we were walking away 

 will always be a mystery), for, as we gave that last backward look, we saw her 

 make a long arm of her bill and place some dainty tidbit far down the throat of 

 her offspring, looking for all the word, as she did so, like Mrs. Squeers adminis- 

 tering sulphur and molasses to the Httle boys. 



The charm of the Bittern drew us often to the pond, and one day when there 

 was no wind to ruffle the water and no clouds to dull the reflections, we seated 

 ourselves to admire the natural beauties of the place. The trees, shrubs and rocks 

 on the opposite side of the pond were perfectly reflected in its mirror-like surface, 

 and we were lost in admiration of the scene, and almost forgot the Bittern, when 

 suddenly we realized that she was part of the landscape. How daintily she moved, 

 picking her way in and out between the rocks, at times so perfectly reflected in 

 the water that we could see the markings on the feathers. She was in no haste 

 and would lift her foot out of the water in such a way that there was not a ripple 

 made. When she reached a point exactly opposite us, she seemed to realize 

 that she was being watched and flew slowly back to the head of the pond, which, 

 with its muddy margin, made an excellent feeding ground, and it was here 

 that we flushed the Bittern for the last time that season. 



