158 BIRD-LAND ECHOES. 



some-like when the big flocks move off, 'long late 

 in the fall ; but it's a short winter for me when Feb- 

 ruary comes round and they're all back again." 



Think of it ! Suppose that such appreciative 

 people were scattered all over the country ; what a 

 paradise for birds would be every field, meadow, 

 and by-way ! 



I let the old man rest for a few minutes, for I saw 

 that he was gathering in the bird-full days of past 

 years, and would soon be ready to answer further 

 queries ; I saw, too, that I must lead him in the 

 directions that most appealed to me, or his fund of 

 coveted facts would never be reached. I needed 

 tact, which I am not blessed with, and was lucky 

 to-day in not blundering. 



" What about the water-birds that stay around the 

 pond? I have seen herons fly up and down," I 

 remarked, after a lengthy pause. 



"Do you mean big and little cranes?" he asked, 

 in reply. 



"I do ; but they are not true cranes," I an- 

 swered. 



"True ones or false ones, that's what I know 'em 

 as, and of course they're here. Up at the pond-head 

 they have their nests, the little greenish-like ones 

 and the blue and white ones that fly over at night. 

 'Quoks,' they call 'em." 



"Yes, they are the birds I mean," I said, impa- 

 tiently. 



" I don't see much in 'em. They don't come 

 about sociable-like, and, stand where you may, 



