158 STOKIES OF BIKD LIFE. 



seen the bird before, and yet I could not help thinking that 

 possibly this was Levy, and at once began to speak of him 

 as such. This was childish, but I was a child, and thought 

 as a child. Chancing to be passing that way frequently 

 during the next few days, I saw each time an egret, doubt-, 

 less the same bird, haunting that stretch of the shore. 

 Others could be seen on the marshes at a distance. 



In the tall bushes, growing in a secluded pond in the 

 swamp half a mile from the lake, a small colony of herons 

 had their nesting home. Here the egrets of that region, 

 to the number of half a dozen pairs, likewise built their 

 nests. Learning of this from a squirrel hunter, I accom- 

 panied him one day to the spot. The scene which met our 

 eyes was not a pleasant one. We had expected to see some 

 of the beautiful egrets about their nests, or standing on the 

 trees near by. But not a living one could we find, while 

 here and there in the mud lay the lifeless forms of eight of 

 the birds. They had been shot down and the skin bearing 

 the plumes stripped from their backs. Flies were busily 

 at their work and they swarmed up with hideous buzzings 

 as we approached each spot where a victim lay. 



This was not the worst. In four of the nests young 

 orphan birds could be seen. They were clamoring piteously 

 for food which their dead parents could never again bring 

 them. A little one was discovered which, now past suffer- 



