The Music of the Marsh 



stigma. When the bloom petals fall the disk 

 grows rapidly into a large head with the appear- 

 ance of having a lid. This pod is full of seed, that 

 the Indians grind for one of their dainties at wed- 

 ding feasts. These balls of gold, before they are 

 fully open, resemble small fallen suns; and when 

 we reflect that the sun stands for light and warmth, 

 by which we live, yellow becomes our most pre- 

 cious color. There is not so much sound on the yel- 

 low lilies as on the white or blue, but there is a 

 world of busy musicians all around them. 



A tea party of prima donnas would not reveal 

 sweeter tones than the incessant vocalizing of a 

 flock of wild ducks. They make entrancing music. The Orig- 

 At one moment come notes of glad content over inal Q uack 

 motherhood, sunshine, and feasting; then an en- 

 dearing call as they gather small ones close to 

 them; then a warning lest a venturesome baby 

 stray too far; then a word of satisfaction over a 

 very luscious worm, and too often the high alarm 

 cry when the water riffles with a big turtle or musk- 

 rat coming their way. When a rival interferes 

 with his love-making, a courting drake sends across 

 the marsh a hair-raising scream, quite unlike that 

 of his domesticated cousin. 



The marsh music of wild geese is almost of the 



same character, differing from the ducks only in 



tone and one tribal call. The "Honk! Honk!" 



of the old gander that leads his wedge-shaped flock 



405 



