A COTTON PLANTATION. 181 



then, I climbed the fence and picked my 

 way across the field. True enough, about 

 the edges of the water were two or three 

 solitary sandpipers, and at least half a 

 dozen of the smaller yellowlegs, two ad- 

 ditions to my Florida list, not to speak of 

 a little blue heron and a green heron, the 

 latter in most uncommonly green plumage. 

 It was well I had interpreted the placard 

 a little generously. "The letter killeth" 

 is a pretty good text in emergencies of this 

 kind. So I said to myself. The herons, 

 meanwhile, had taken French leave, but 

 the smaller birds were less suspicious; I 

 watched them at niy leisure, and left them 

 still feeding. 



Two days later I was there again, but it 

 must be acknowledged that this time I tar- 

 ried in the road till a man on horseback had 

 disappeared round the next turn. It would 

 have been manlier, without doubt, to pay 

 no attention to him ; but something told me 

 that he was the cotton-planter himself, and, 

 for better or worse, prudence carried the day 

 with me. Finding nothing new, though the 

 sandpipers and yellowlegs were still present, 

 with a very handsome little blue heron and 



