THE CITY OF THE LONGLEGS 187 



ing over," he continued, "are old ones carrying food to 

 their young." 



One day he took me to visit this annual gathering place 

 of the herons. On the rear side of the plantation is a pond 

 formed by a stream which was dammed to furnish water 

 for flooding the rice fields. It extends for a mile or more 

 into the woods. At the upper end it divides into three 

 branches, which like long arms reach back into the wilder- 

 ness for a considerable distance. At the far end of one of 

 these arms the herons had their city. 



In a growth of young cypress trees covering an area of 

 not more than an acre their nests were built. As we ap- 

 proached, the birds could be seen in numbers flying from 

 place to place. Many were resting on the branches of the 

 trees while others were feeding their young. Two inquisi- 

 tive fellows, sentinels possibly, came out for a better view 

 of us and our boat, but soon flew hurriedly back, squawking 

 loudly as they went. Their sounds of alarm could not have 

 attracted much notice amid all the squeak-squawking of 

 those hundreds of noisy tenants and their young, for the 

 colony as a whole took no heed of our arrival. Only those 

 nearest us as we passed took fright. 



The nests of the little blue and Louisiana herons were 

 simply slight platforms of dead twigs placed loosely to- 

 gether in the crotches of the cypress limbs, from four to 



