42 THE BULL-O’-THE-MARSHES. 
See now, and understand. Fawnish and 
light were the stems of the tall reeds, and 
the shadows between them made long black 
slashes. Just so, and that was how nature 
had painted him. Needs only to shut wings 
tight, to stand bolt-upright, with head and 
lance-like beak pointing straight to heaven, 
and to stay there motionless as a post, and— 
there you are, just reeds among other reeds. 
Of course, if you had looked very close, you 
might have seen the glitter of his lizard-like 
green eyes; but, remembering always that 
fiendish long beak, the possibility was that 
you might lose one of your own eyes in 
doing so. 
A man in a boat came rowing quietly past, 
the reeds parting in front of the bows, one 
long oar nearly touching the motionless bird. 
An otter, lithe and graceful, slid by, paddling 
down what stream there was. A short-eared 
owl, soundless as a ghost, flapped so close 
above the upthrust beak that the very wind 
from its wings ruffled two black feathers on 
the bird’s poll. Then night shut down, and 
the frogs had the auditorium to themselves. 
At last the bird moved, and, wading out 
in the shallows, began to hunt for ‘little 
fishes.’ Suddenly he stopped. A shadow 
passed overhead, big almost as himself. There 
