BIRD'S-NESTING 109 



of twigs on which was sitting a strange bird. Its 

 long sharp beak pointed straight skyward. Its back 

 was a combination of shades of soft reddish-browns, 

 while its breast was reddish-brown streaked with 

 white. The most curious things about it were its 

 eyes. They were almost all pupil, with a bright 

 golden ring around the extreme edge, and stared 

 at us unwinkingly like a great snake. Although we 

 came close up, the bird absolutely refused to leave 

 her nest, and stabbed viciously at a stick which I 

 poked out toward her. Finally, not daring to trust 

 my hand within reach of that stabbing yellow beak, 

 I lifted her up bodily with the long stick, enough to 

 show five whitish-blue eggs rounded at each end. 

 It was the rare nest and eggs of the least bittern, a 

 bird a little over a foot long, which has a strange 

 habit of clutching with its claws the stalks of reeds 

 and walking up them like a monkey. As we left, 

 amid the clicking notes of the cricket-frogs and 

 the boom of the bull-frogs we heard a very low 

 "Cluck, cluck, cluck." It was the least bittern 

 singing the only song she knew, in celebration of the 

 fact that she still had her eggs safe. 



The Architect and myself decided to travel once 

 again, later in the season, to the mountain, in the 

 hope that we might make a better nesting record. 

 We reached the cabin on June 17th, and again found 

 ourselves back in spring. The peepers were still 

 calling, and there were wild lilies-of-the-valley in the 

 woods, and pink rose-hearted twin-flowers, with 

 their scent of heliotrope. Everywhere grew the 



