THE SECRETS OF THE MEADOW. 183 



swept the wind -ruffled grass land thoroughly 

 over and over again. The bittern was not to be 

 seen. But almost at once my friend whispered 

 excitedly, " I see him," and by a common im- 

 pulse we merged our outlines in those of the 

 barberries behind us. The wary bird was in the 

 edge of the meadow, at the foot of the slight 

 slope on which we stood. His head and neck 

 were raised above the grass, and resembled in 

 size and color a cat-tail, which the wind and 

 weather had reduced to a mass of flaxen seed- 

 vessels loosely attached to their stalks. For 

 several minutes he did not move, and with our 

 eyes glued to the barrels of our field-glasses we 

 watched his uplifted beak and stiffened neck. 

 Slowly his head dropped, and with a premonitory 

 shake disappeared in the grass. Seven seconds 

 after it was flung up, so that the bill pointed to 

 the sky, but it fell back as quickly into the 

 grass. This was done four times, and each time 

 the " kung-ka-unk " came to our ears. After 

 this performance had been repeated several times, 

 the bittern sank slowly beneath the grass, as 

 though to begin pumping, but did not reappear. 

 Waiting for a while, we walked a few rods along 

 the edge of the meadow to a point where several 

 oak trees spread their strong arms to the breeze. 

 Concealed behind their trunks, we watched the 

 sea of grass, and soon discovered the beak and 



