48 The Hawkey e 0. and O. 



Often on some clear, cold night, when the f nil moon shone on 

 the snow clad hills, would I start from my chair, scattering books 

 and papers in my eager haste to catch the full import of that 

 _ startling cry — but would invariably be too late. Fain would I 

 wait to hear it repeated; just on the verge of despair I would 

 turn to re-enter the house, but again coming from the deepness of 

 the swamp would that wierd, long drawn, muttering cry awake 

 the stillness of the night. I would listen spellbound till the last 

 echoing note died away, then turn back feeling well repaid for 

 my vigil, that I had heard the cry in its fullness. 



Back in my cosy, tire-lit room. 1 resolved that when the prop- 

 er time came I would visit that particular swamp and find, if pos- 

 sible, the eggs of that pair of birds, that I knew would be depos- 

 ited somewhere within its limits. Time flew by almost unawares, 

 so occupied was I with my books, till I awoke to the realization 

 that it was time to be up and doing, or my hopes would not ma- 

 terialize. 



One morning past the middle of February, with a light track- 

 ing covering the ground and signs of a thaw overhead, found me 

 equipped for the search. Encumbered with collecting box, 

 climbers and gun, I started for the swamp, determined to do my 

 utmost to discover "the chosen spot." I entered the swamp at 

 its outer third, purposing to make a complete circuit and again 

 circling the swamp nearer its middle, thereby covering as much 

 ground as was possible in so short a time as one day. 



I had at last after much tramping made my way through the 

 swamp, coming out near the part where four hou>-s earlier I had 

 started on my search so full of hope and expectancy. 1 stopped 

 to rest awhile before resuming the search, as I was much exhaust- 

 ed from the rough walking the ground afforded 



Again resuming the hunt I started down through the swamp 

 nearer the middle — this time with many misgivings — not doubt- 

 ing the presence of a nest in the swamp, but rather my inability 

 to find it. 



