Jt HOWS COU^TieS' HSRO^RT 163 



tree, broad and massive structures some of them, the 

 accumulated piles of generations. We are very near 

 them now, and on one is a tall sentry very plain to see 

 as he stands dreaming on his nest. An old heron in his 

 nuptial plumage is a gallant bird. But there is barely 

 time to mark the exquisite tone of grey in his great wings, 

 the waving feathers on his breast, and the long plume 

 floating from his head. For now there passes near a fleet 

 of wild ducks paddling fast along. The old mallard in 

 front catches sight of the boat; with loud note of 

 warning he rises on the wing, followed fast by all his 

 train. 



The drowsy heron high up among the branches lifts 

 his plumed head with a start, looks round a moment, 

 then with muttered croak stretches his long snake-like 

 neck, flaps hastily his mighty wings, dangles his long 

 legs awkwardly below. But as he gets under way, the 

 neck is drawn in, the legs trail easily astern, the broad 

 wings settle down to a slow and steady flight a very 

 triumph of the wing. 



A slender burden is it after all that those great wings 

 bear along. Though standing three feet high, and with 

 wings five feet in span, the whole bird weighs but three 

 pounds and a half. An old Scotch legend makes him 

 vary in condition with the phases of the moon, and no 

 doubt he does fare better on moonlit nights than when 

 the darkness shelters from his deadly spear the hapless 

 trout. 



But now the whole place is in a tumult. At the first 

 sound of wings a wild duck rose among the reeds near 



