310 Union Bay 



"Its bill is long and sharp. You could get a nasty jab if it 

 really hit you." 



"Not in its present shape. It can hiss and open its bill and 

 act mean, but it's too weak to make a single pass. The poor 

 thing is just about starved." 



"Have you tried to feed it?" I asked. 



"What can I give it? Every day it passes up the stuff that 

 the other birds eat. It's had plenty of chance to try every- 

 thing IVe got." 



I looked at the bird. I had never been so close to one. My 

 impression had been general. It was tawnier, and its bill and 

 legs were sturdier than they appeared at a. distance. The 

 body seemed larger, too. But the plumage impressed me 

 most— delicate browns, tans and creams, mottled and 

 freckled and barred in different tones. Here was all the love- 

 liness and detail which placed the bird feather among the 

 most remarkable of nature's creations. I noticed the creamy- 

 white throat, the breast striping, and the black neck mark- 

 ings. The combinations of color and pattern explained the 

 effectiveness of the camouflage. 



I admired the attitude of the bird. Even though it was 

 hungry, perhaps dying, it possessed the quality that my 

 grandfather always referred to as staunchness. Its hiss met 

 every one of our quick movements and its tenseness indi- 

 cated its willingness to strike though it lacked the strength to 

 do it. Scientists probably would have termed it the defensive 

 reaction of an animal that was filled with fear. But whatever 

 it was, I liked it and I determined to make some kind of an 

 effort to help even though I was almost certain the attempt 

 would fail. 



"I know the director of the zoo," I said. "Perhaps he could 

 save it by feeding it the kind of food they give their herons. 

 I'm willing to try it." 



The bittern lay as if on a nest when we placed it in a box. 



