140 



WILD WINGS 



YOUNG LITTLE BLUE HERONS 



submerged forest. The trees were unclimbable, and the birds 

 wary. 



The region is one of malarial fever, and no white man 

 dares remain there past sundown during the warm season. 

 Even the overseer always drives back to town after the day's 

 work. So soon we, too, had to quit, take the long jaunt to 

 the yacht, and return early next morning. My friend thought 

 he had had enough of it, so I left the party, put up with the 

 overseer, and drove with him on his buckboard drawn by 

 a little runt of a mule, employing him as guide to the rookery 

 and other interesting localities. 



It was nine o'clock before we could reach the swamp again. 

 The guide and a negro paddled, while I was perched up in 



