leaves hung limp and silent ; a catbird settled 

 near me witli dropped tail and head drawn in 

 between her shoulders, as mute as the leaves ; 

 the Maryland yellowthroat broke into a sharp 

 gallop of song at intervals,— he would have to 

 clatter a little on doomsday, if that day fell in 

 June,— but the intervals were far apart. The 

 meadow shimmered. ISTo part of the horizon 

 was in sight — only the sky overhanging the 

 little open of grass, and this was cloudless, 

 though far from blue. 



Perhaps there was not a real sign of uneasiness 

 anywhere except in my boat ; yet I felt some- 

 thing ominous in this silent, stifled noon. After 

 all, I ought to have scotched the rusty, red-bel- 

 lied water-snake leering at me now. The croak 

 of the great blue heron sounded again ; then far 

 away, mysterious and spirit-like, floated a soft 

 qua, qua, qua — the cry of the least bittern out of 

 the heart of the swamp. 



I loosed the grape-vine, put in my paddle, and 

 turned down-stream, with an urgent desire to 

 get out of the swamp, out where I could see 

 about me. I made no haste, lest the stream, the 

 swamp, the something that made me uneasy, 

 [139] 



