A MISTY MORNING S FIND. 93 



of color ; and next the sluggish run a dark Indian red 

 makes a mirrored reflection, with mixture of dull, yellow 

 green of low-growing herbs. 



The woodland outline is unbroken, save by the seaward 

 course of the winding brook. Across the marsh a flock of 

 red- winged blackbirds wing their way. On the trolley- 

 wire are clean vested kingbirds. 



From that vantage point they make frequent sallies for 

 their insect prey, returning to nearly the same point. Their 

 heads are in constant motion, now looking up, now down, 

 and sometimes almost back of themselves, until you won- 

 der what keeps them from losing their balance. A pair of 

 bluebirds glint by, warbling softly to each other. 



We leave our wheels and turn away from the highway, 

 following the car track, a short cut to the woods. A bob- 

 olink, with his family of five soberly dressed companions, 

 hurries awa}' from the marsh toward the adjoining orchard, 

 The breeze wafts bits of his song to us, reminding us of in 

 land orchards where he sings earlier in the season. But 

 a surprise awaits us at this point. 



What is this great, ungainly, graj'-brown bird, with long 

 yellow legs, and long neck crooked up in flight ? A mar- 

 vellous flight, without noise, and with apparent ease, the 

 American bittern wings a straight course to the woods. 

 While looking and wondering at our good fortune to get 

 such a near view of this bird, and to have a new bird to 

 add to our summer list, a second, with telling, leisurely 

 stroke, follows the course of the first. 



But surely there are no more ? Alert, with interest and 

 much caution, we creep up to the bank of the little run, 

 and there is a third. With head erect, motionless, in the 

 tall grass he is hardly discernable. But he has already 

 thought of flight, for he has listened to the warning crj'- of 

 his retreating friend, so he, too, withdraws from our aston- 

 ished gaze, crossing the marsh like his predecessors. 



