The Track Near the Marsh 105 



The progress of the meet made my friend very unhappy. 

 He said: 



"It's a shame that the rain slows things up so. Nothing 

 goes right in this weather. You might as well have stayed in 

 the marsh." 



But I didn't agree. I liked watching the way the men han- 

 dled themselves in the bad weather. I never thought that 

 races could be run so smoothly under such handicaps. 



A mallard hen flew directly over the stadium. The crowd 

 lifted imaginary guns and popped at the bird as the grade 

 school boys slay imaginary rustlers and bandits with their 

 imitation six-shooters. The duck moved on steadily and dis- 

 appeared in the cattails directly east of the stadium where 

 beavers had built and occupied a lodge. Between showers I 

 could hear the singing of spring birds now in the area— red- 

 wings giving their full song from the reeds, a towhee monot- 

 onously repeating its short warble, and a white-crowned 

 sparrow whose oh-gee-kitty-did-scare-me song was especially 

 conspicuous because I was hearing it for the first time in the 

 season. The violet-green swallows had ceased their twittering 

 and vanished, probably because there was little insect life 

 out in such weather. The white bills of the coots on the water 

 showed clearly through my glasses. Rains did not disturb 

 coots for they fed on bottom growth which they obtained by 

 diving. 



The discus throwers and pole vaulters went about their 

 business, apparently little affected by the downpour. The 

 home squad lost but my friend was not downcast. The run- 

 ning events, he said, would put us in the lead. 



Gulls soared high above us. Perhaps a hundred of them 

 slowly breasted the wind which seemed much stronger at 

 that height. After they had progressed a short distance, they 

 ceased flying and let the gale hurl them back to where they 

 had started. Then they would repeat the process or swing 

 in great circles which took them higher and higher. They 



