A RED-HEADED FAMILY. 31 
who in turn treated her with lofty contempt. 
To him the question of a new egg was not 
worth considering. But when she at last 
turned away from him, and mounting into the 
air, galloped off into the solemn gloom of the 
cypress wood, he followed her, trumpeting at 
the top of his voice. 
Day after day I returned to my hiding-place 
to renew my observation, and, excepting a 
visitation of mosquitoes now and then, noth- 
ing occurred to mar my enjoyment. As the 
weather grew warmer the flowers and leaves 
came on apace, and the swamp became a vast 
wilderness of perfume and contrasting colors. 
Bird songs from migrating warblers, vireos, 
finches and other happy sojourners for a day 
(or mayhap they were all nesting there, I can- 
not say, for I had larger fish to fry), shook the 
wide silence into sudden resonance. Along 
the sluggish little stream between the cane- 
brakes, the hermit-thrush and the cat-bird were 
met by the green heron and the belted king- 
fisher. The snake-bird, too, that veritable 
water-dragon of the South, was there, wrig- 
gling and squirming in the amber-brown pools 
amongst the lily-pads and lettuce. 
At last, one morning, my woodpeckers dis- 
covered me in my hiding-place; and that was 
the end of all intimacy between us. Thence- 
forth my observations were few and at a long 
distance. No amount of cunning could serve 
me any turn. Go as early as I might, and hide 
as securely as I could, those great yellow eyes 
quickly espied me, and then there would be a 
rapid and long flight away into the thickest 
and most difficult part of the swamp. 
I confess that it was with no little debate 
