SENTRY OF THE SEDGE FLATS 55 



Not far above the mouth of the stream the 

 man set the last of his musquash traps. Then 

 he paddled back leisurely by the way he had 

 come, his dingy yellow straw hat appearing 

 to sail close over the grass as the boat followed 

 the windings of the stream. When the yellow 

 hat had at length been swallowed up in the 

 violet haze along the base of the uplands, the 

 great blue heron reappeared, winging low 

 along the river shore. Arriving at the 

 sand-spit he dropped his feet to the shallow 

 water, closed his wings, and settled abruptly 

 into a rigid pose of watching, with his neck 

 outstretched and his head held high in the 

 air. 



The most searching scrutiny revealed no- 

 thing in all the tranquil summer landscape to 

 disturb him. Nevertheless, he seemed to have 

 lost conceit of his sentry post on the tip of the 

 sand-spit. Instead of settling down to watch 

 for what might come to him, he decided to go 

 and look for what he wanted. With long, 

 ungainly, precise, but absolutely noiseless 

 strides, he took his slow way up along the 

 shore of the little river, walking on the narrow 

 margin of mud between the grass-roots and the 

 water. As he went his long neck undulated 

 sinuously at each stride, his head was held 

 low, and his eyes glared under every drooping 



