110 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS. 



less. He came a little nearer and twittered " See here, 

 see here !" She was by no means convinced, and re- 

 mained at a safe distance. Her mate, growing still 

 braver, flew almost to my feet and perched upon the 

 stern of the boat. Then I waved my arms vigorously 

 above my head and the poor bird flew shrieking with 

 terror to the woods, followed by his more cautious mate. 

 A half -hour afterwards she was still scolding, and I 

 doubt not gloried over his mishap. When the months 

 roll by, and a new nest is to be built, if any dispute 

 arises, she will be twittering " Remember the man in 

 the boat." Like all of her sex, whether in feathers 

 or smooth skin, they never omit an opportunity to tease, 

 or forget the few times in their lives when they really 

 have the best of an argument. 



The creek here, as in many portions of its channel, 

 has greatly altered since Indian times. It was then 

 much deeper, somewhat narrower, and its waters clearer. 

 This better condition, in fact, continued until the begin- 

 ning of this century, when the general deforesting of 

 the hill-side was commenced, and in the past eighty-five 

 years the rains have gullied the bluff in many places, 

 and carried to the creek's channel countless tons of sand 

 and gravel, which the current has never been powerful 

 enough to remove; and often for hundreds of rods 

 there is a broad and shallow flow, where formerly it was 

 deep and narrow. 



These great changes, deplorable as they may be, have 

 not robbed the creek of all its beauty. After the cat- 

 birds had departed, and I had sought in vain for some 

 substantia^ traces of the old Indian fishing-dam, I worked 



