WOODLAND PATHS 



gone on with wild squawks that said 

 " Help, help ! " as plainly as any language 

 could. Out from among the cedars, in 

 answer to this frenzied appeal, came the 

 other bittern, and then another. I watched 

 the three flapping down the bog and saw 

 them light together at a safe distance. 

 Then I knew the cause of all the trouble 

 in the bittern family. The bog world, like 

 the pasture world and the deep wood, at 

 this time of year is full of blissful love 

 making, but it is also full of heartrending 

 jealousies and fights to a finish. No won- 

 der the pukwudgies and bog bogles are 

 full of talk and excitement back there; 

 there is enough food for gossip. 



Sitting quietly in the boat in this new 

 part of the bog I had a queer feeling of 

 being grimly watched by, I could not tell 

 what. I have read tales of travelers in 



African jungles who felt the eyes of a 

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