A MARSH MYSTERY 
was over everything, the yellow-headed 
blackbird had long forgotten to sing, when 
suddenly from the water under our boat or 
from the rushes on this side and on that 
came weird cries, not of earth and certainly 
not of heaven. The Man with the Camera 
looked at me and raised a warning finger 
for silence. Breathlessly 1 waited, expecting 
to see nothing less than old god Pan emerge 
from the rushes. Nothing like this had I 
ever heard before, and the possibilities were 
almost overpowering. After a long time, 
during which the strange noises continued, 
we caught sight of something skulking 
through the reeds at the edge of the open 
water. Our eyes interrogatively telegraphed 
the one word “ Rail?” and then we watched 
more breathlessly than before. The little 
creature stood motionless for several min- 
utes, its dull plumage rendering it safely 
inconspicuous, and only its queer whistling 
call proclaiming it kin to the birds rather 
than to the little marsh people, — the 
musk-rats, frogs, or turtles. Presently it 
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