32 THE CLERK OF THE WOODS 



I go to the top of a grassy mound, and seat 

 myself where I have a lengthwise view of a 

 ditch. Here, ten years ago, more or less, I 

 saw my first gallinule. We had heard his 

 outcries for some days (I speak of myself 

 and two better men), and a visiting New 

 York ornithologist had told us that they were 

 probably the work of a gallinule. They came 

 always from the most inaccessible parts of 

 the swamp, where it seemed hopeless to wade 

 in pursuit of the bird, since we wished to see 

 him alive ; but turning the question over in 

 my mind, I bethought myself of this low hill- 

 top, with its command of an open stretch of 

 water between a broad expanse of cat-tails 

 and a wood. Hither I came, therefore. If 

 there was any virtue in waiting, the thing 

 should be done. And sure enough, in no 

 very long time out paddled the bird, with 

 those queer bobbing motions which I was to 

 grow familiar with afterward a Florida 

 gallinule, with a red plate on his forehead. 

 Again and again I saw him (patience was 

 easy now), and when I had seen enough 

 for that time and was on my way back to 

 the railway station, I met the foremost of 



