20 mp Uarbler 



er look, and my heart jumped ! Could it be possible that these were Snowy- 

 Herons ? 



For once, Bingo was a nuisance and I wished him anywhere but there. 

 Do what I could he seemed intent upon going in the creek. If he did, good- 

 bye herons, and I knew that if I could not make sure of their identity I 

 would be credited, when I told my tale, with only the usual amateur's abil- 

 ity to see things which are not. At last I caught the dog, and holding him 

 with one hand and my gun in the other. I crept slowly through the grass 

 to the edge of the creek, a short but sufficient journey, as anyone will agree 

 who is acquainted with the power of annoyance possessed by Florida marsh 

 grass — a round, sharp, belligerent growth, very unlike our Northern variety. 



But my toil was rewarded ; no room for any doubt now. These were 

 surely Snowy Herons, and what a sight! As they strutted proudly about, 

 the wind blowing their fluffy plumes, now and then one would raise his 

 head and crest, and what a magnificent bird he was ! I could have been 

 content to watch them for hours, but Bingo was of a different mind. His 

 motto is " action," and his growls and plunges to get free cut my observa- 

 tion short. At his first alarm the birds, cackling hoarsely, flew up the creek 

 and disappeared around a bend. 



Returning to Seven Oaks I told Mr. Hoyt of the birds I had seen — six 

 Snowv Herons ! The struggle between the politeness of a host to his guest 

 and the preciseness of a teacher to his pupil seemed to bother him for a 

 moment in framing a suitable response. I think the number led him to 

 doubt my identification, but he contented himself with saying that if they 

 were Snovvys he knew where they would nest, and later we would visit them 

 together. 



The heron's breeding time is about April first, and on the second, leav- 

 ing Bingo straining at his chain, Mr. Hoyt and myself set out for a rookery 

 known to him, where Snowys formerly bred in company with the Louisiana 

 and Little Blue Herons. As we approached their home the birds arose in 

 the air with a sound like distant thunder, and imagine my joy when six 

 pure white ones separated from the flock and flew across the lake. These, 

 Mr. Hoyt said, were undoubtedly Snowy Herons, and for a moment I felt 

 like an Arctic explorer who had produced his proof. 



Fixing me out of sight in some bushes Mr. Hoyt found a hiding place 

 for himself, and we waited for the herons to return. What a place it was — 

 a strange sight for Northern eyes. A small pond full of buttonwood bushes, 

 alligators and moccasins, and in the bushes hundreds of nests of the Little 

 Blue and Louisiana Herons. Among them somewhere, too, three nests of 

 the rapidly disappearing Snowy — just where, we were waiting to learn- 

 After an interval of time, which probably seemed longer than it really was, 

 the herons began to return. Sounding their unmusical cacks and pushing 



