The Music of the Marsh 



small bays and screened pools often, and as the 

 chatter of old and young commingled in the music 

 of a coot party you have said, "That scarcely 

 sounds like ducks." 



I have seen coots running throughout a season 

 in this swampy corner of a marsh, and it is as 

 nearly typical of their location as any I know. The 

 The muck of such places is alive with worms, the Indi 8- 



,,,. , ,, T . i Bird's Nest 



grasses with insects, and the surrounding vines and 

 bushes bear seed. It seems that birds of any habit 

 might flourish there, and indeed I often have seen 

 a little red-eyed vireo so busy in these bushes that 

 I am sure there was a nest and family, and when 

 I landed and worked my way into the marsh I 

 scared up a female Indigo finch, and soon found 

 her nest in a thicket of blackberry and wild 

 grape. 



Both were in bloom and growing so closely 

 around the little cup with its four delicate white 

 eggs that the brooding bird could have sat on her 

 nest and snapped up flies and gnats attracted by 

 the sweets of the flowers. The nest was securely 

 woven and placed in a perfect picture of loveliness, 

 the eggs appearing as pure and white as the berry 

 blooms, but I doubt if the brood came off safely. 

 That location was the most unfortunate I ever 

 knew an Indigo finch to choose. As I stood be- 

 side the nest I seemed to see big black water snakes, 

 weasels, coons, foxes, and a whole flock of bird 

 381 



