riTHE HAUNT OF THE COOT 



Aggressive and inconsiderate human encroachment 

 does not seem to have robbed the city marsh of its 

 popularity as a place for assembling and organising 

 the southward journey. Swallows have gathered and 

 departed. The Plovers and Sandpipers have followed 

 in spite of the attacks that left them with depleted 

 numbers. Blackbirds are gathering, but the most 

 active sojourners are a few broods of Coots hiding 

 in the sheltering banks of Rushes and sometimes 

 freely feeding in the open water. The Coot is the 

 largest of the birds that spend the summer hiding in 

 the Rushes and swimming about over the clogged and 

 weedy marsh. It has the large body and small head 

 of its less conspicuous relatives, and its white bill 

 and wing bar distinguish it from the Florida Gallinule, 

 both being familiarly and fittingly known as Mud 

 Hens. Banks of dense Rushes, where both wading 

 and canoeing are impossible, afford the Coots a 

 comfortable home and safe retreat. They still nest 

 in the marsh occasionally, regardless of the city's 

 encroaching population, and it is not till the inevitable 



i8a 



