of 



each side of the butt, where it lay high and dry above 

 the level of the swamp. This the swamp birds had 

 turned into a great dust-bath. It was in constant use, 

 surely, for not a spear of grass had sprouted in it, and 

 all over it were pits and craters of various sizes, show- 

 ing that not only the partridges, but also the quails, 

 and such small things as the warblers, washed here, 

 though I can't recall ever having seen a warbler bathe 

 in the dust. A dry bath in the swamp was something 

 of a luxury, evidently. I wonder if the buzzards used 

 it? 



I went forward cautiously now, and expectantly, for 

 I was close enough to see the white beak and red wat- 

 tled neck of my guide. It saw me, too, and began to 

 twist its head as I shifted, and to twitch its wing tips 

 nervously. Suddenly its long, black wings opened, 

 and with a heavy lurch that left the stub rocking, 

 it dropped and was soon soaring high up in the 

 blue. 



This was the right locality ; now where should I 

 find the nest? Apparently I was to have no further 

 help from the old bird. The underbrush was so thick 

 that I could see hardly farther than my nose. A half- 

 rotten tree trunk lay near, the top end resting across 



196 



