WOODLAND PATHS 



family quarrel between drunken bog 

 bogles. 



Then there was the sound of blows, and 

 with a wild shriek of a most reckless word 

 a bittern flapped out, whirled round once 

 or twice as if undecided where he would go, 

 then dropped in the grass down the bog a 

 way. Here he turned his black, stake- 

 like head this way and that for a moment, 

 then pulled it down out of sight. I had 

 known the bittern was misanthropic, but 

 I had never before realized that he was so 

 ill-tempered and profane. I am positive 

 he was beating his wife, and the whole 

 affair sounded like a case of too much bog 

 whiskey. 



For an hour there was no sight or sound 

 of this bittern, though uncouth conversa- 

 tion seemed to be going on still in the 

 tangle whence he flew, but I 'heard no more 



profanity. Yet out of the heart of the bog 

 210 



