By Mill-Pond and Meadow. 163 



'fore I went made a willow whistle that could out- 

 screech a whole railroad. I saw they made for 

 where the quoks and little cranes " 



*' Herons ; not cranes." 



" Well, herons, then, and I suspected . they meant 

 to shoot some. The pond-bank is in and out up 

 there, you know, and I kept in shadow, and when 

 I thought about right, I gave a blow on the whistle. 

 Every heron, big and little, rose up, and such a 

 clatter! I heard one of the fellows say, * Shoot!' 

 but he didn't, and I gave another screech that made 

 everything rattle, and first I knew, those fellows was 

 a-scuddin' down the middle of the pond like light- 

 nin'. I kept a-blowin', only soft-like, on the thing, 

 and followed kind o' close. They thought they was 

 chased and went on like mad. I was ashore, near 

 by 'em, 'most as soon as they was, and, slinkin' 

 round by the back way, met 'em while they was 

 standin' under the shed, gettin' their horse, and 

 every one, so far as I could make out, was in a dead 

 tremble. They didn't so much as say 'good-night' 

 when I went up to 'em, sleepy like, and asked 'em 

 where they'd been." 



These beautiful night-herons, the miller's ''quoks," 

 have not fared so well of recent years, and there are 

 now no large heronries within a day's journey ; or, 

 if any remain, they are so hidden in out-of-the-way 

 corners that no one has discovered them. When 

 I think of the slaughter of night-herons, I cannot 

 find words in the dictionary to fairly express my 

 feelings. On more than one occasion I coined 



