A RED-HEADED FAMILY. 31 



who in turn treated her with lofty contempt. 

 To him the question of a new egg was not 

 worth considering. But when she at last 

 turned away from him, and mounting into the 

 air, galloped off into the solemn gloom of the 

 cypress wood, he followed her, trumpeting at 

 the top of his voice. 



Day after day I returned to my hiding-place 

 to renew my observation, and, excepting a 

 visitation of mosquitoes now and then, noth- 

 ing occurred to mar my enjoyment. As the 

 weather grew warmer the flowers and leaves 

 came on apace, and the swamp became a vast 

 wilderness of perfume and contrasting colors. 

 Bird songs from migrating warblers, vireos, 

 finches and other happy sojourners for a day 

 (or mayhap they were all nesting there, I can- 

 not say, for I had larger fish to fry), shook the 

 wide silence into sudden resonance. Along 

 the sluggish little stream between the cane- 

 brakes, the hermit-thrush and the cat-bird were 

 met by the green heron and the belted king- 

 fisher. The snake-bird, too, that veritable 

 water-dragon of the South, was there, wrig- 

 gling and squirming in the amber-brown pools 

 amongst the lily-pads and lettuce. 



At last, one morning, my woodpeckers dis- 

 covered me in my hiding-place; and that was 

 the end of all intimacy between us. Thence- 

 forth my observations were few and at a long 

 distance. No amount of cunning could serve 

 me any turn. Go as early as I might, and hide 

 as securely as I could, those great yellow eyes 

 quickly espied me, and then there would be a 

 rapid and long flight away into the thickest 

 and most difficult part of the swamp. 



I confess that it was with no little debate 



