AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY. 149 



contained a rough appearing, but comfortable nest, in which were four 

 unspotted light brown eggs; and that morning the silent vigil of the 

 patient would-be mother began. 



But on that same morning there came over the hill towards the cove, 

 two of the greatest enemies known to the feathered folk; boys who 

 with guns tramp the woods and marshes at any and every season, 

 slaughtering anything wild that comes within distance. 



They came swiftly down the hill and through the bushes that edged 

 the cove. The brown bird upon the nest had watched their approach 

 over the hill, and had sunk her body deeper into the sedges; but when 

 they appeared on the very edge of the cove, with a hoarse cry she 

 arose. 



Instantly there was a flash and a report and with one wing hanging 

 limp and the other only serving to turn her round and round, the poor 

 creature sank helplessly into the bushes on the farther side of the cove. 



Knowing her helplessness, she crept far up into the bushes and lay 

 still. In the search which followed she was passed and repassed; but 

 so well did her mottled brown back blend with the dead leaves that the 

 searchers were compelled to give up the quest. 



An hour later, a well hidden observer might have seen a slowly 

 moving bird, with one helpless wing painfully making her way to the 

 nest on the hummock. 



That afternoon, Punkatunk, who had been feeding far down the 

 river, returned and settled near the nest. Something in the position 

 of the bird thereon aroused his curiosity. He thrust his long bill 

 under the head that lay on the edge of the nest and raised it. The 

 eyes did not open and the head fell heavily back. The birds are not 

 slow to understand such signs. Silently Punkatank rose from the 

 swamp and disappeared down the river. 



That night, a prowling raccoon attracted by the oder of fresh blood, 

 approached the hummock and found a tempting morsel, but the 

 booming of Punkatunk was heard no more in the cove that spring. 



Will we hear him next year, or will he remember and leave the cove 

 deserted until another pair of Bitterns shall select it as their nesting 

 site? 



THE PUMPING OF THE BITTERN, 



Yesterday while working in a field near by a small stream, not 

 marked on any map, and in the marsh at the mouth of which Bitterns 

 annually breed, my attention was attracted by the strange notes of a 



