174 THE LOG OF THE SUN 



stronghold of the untamed The bulrushes rise 

 in ranks, Like the spears of a great army, sur- 



mnding and guarding the colony of the marsh. 



There seems to be a kinship between the voices 



of the marsh dwellers. Most of them seem to have 

 a muddy, aquatic note. The boom of the frog 



rands like some great stone dropped into the 

 water; the little marsh wren's song is the "babble 

 and tinkle of water running out of a silver flask." 



The blackbird seems to be the one connecting 

 link between the highlands and the lowlands. 

 Seldom does one see other citizens of the marsh 

 in the upland. How glorious is the flight of a 

 great blue heron from one feeding-ground to 

 another! He does not tarry over the foreign ter- 

 ritory, nor does he hurry. With neck and head 

 furled close and legs straight out behind, he pur- 

 sues his course, swerving neither to the right nor 

 the left. 



"Vainly the fowler's eye 

 Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, 

 As darkly painted on the crimson si 

 Thy figure floats along." 



The blackbirds, however, are more neighbourly. 

 They even forage in the foreign territory, return- 

 ing at night to sleep. 



In nesting time the red-wing is indeed a citizen 

 of the lowland. His voice is as distinctive of the 

 mar si i as is the croak of the frog, and from a 

 distance it is one of the first sounds to greet the 



