The Poetry of Shelter. ill 



young flapped the water for several seconds 

 until white with foam ; then all were gone. 

 Splatter-dock and arrow-head were here above 

 the water, which was so shallow I think the 

 birds escaped by hiding rather than diving. 

 Many a time since then I have sheltered my- 

 self in this or some similar way and watched the 

 creek for hours. It is hard upon one's muscles, 

 but I never remember my patience to have 

 gone unrepaid. To keep yourself hidden is the 

 secret of success in observing wild life. By so 

 doing you gather in an hour more practical 

 natural history than by any other plan that I 

 have tried or know of others trying. It is 

 astonishing how often aquatic life comes to the 

 surface ; and it is something to see even the 

 heads of turtles, snakes, eels, frogs, and perhaps 

 a mink comes inshore with a fish in his jaws. 

 Taking shelter in some chance way from a pass- 

 ing tumult in the overarching skies, we happily 

 forget, for the time, the crushing weight of our 

 own importance as man, and see with the clearer 

 vision and interpret with the unprejudiced wit 

 of the purely animal. Nothing so surely rids 

 us of our sense of importance as to find the 



