“ Spearbill,” 
the Heron. 
(127) 
THE BIRD WORLD. 
“Spearbill,” the Heron. 
By G* H. LEW IN* 
(Continued from p. 99, Vol. I.) 
His capture makes him more careful 
in the future, and he finds stations 
where he can spend his leisure in 
security. After a morning of fishing he 
loves to stand quite still on the look¬ 
out, waiting sometimes for hours with 
his long neck between his shoulders, 
looking in the distance as like a Hawk 
as a Heron. 
Some days he spends his time on and 
near the island in his home pool, pick¬ 
ing up frogs and other small game or 
wading until he is so deep he looks to 
be floating on the water; he knows how 
to stand perfectly still until some roach 
or perch comes swimming by within his 
reach, when there is a quick dart of his 
spear-like bill, and the fish is caught 
and held fairly in the middle. With¬ 
out a pause “ Spearbill ” throws up his 
long neck, and slightly tossing up the 
fish to catch by its head, swallows it 
down with a long gulp, and stands 
patient and sentinel-like for more to 
come. When he has had enough fish¬ 
ing, he sometimes stalks gravely and 
slowly along the gravelly bank with 
some of his friends. 
Hard Times. 
The winter comes with a frost sharp 
and strong, and “ Spearbill ” is hard 
pressed to get his food, picking up bits 
of any garbage here and there, for the 
fish are now beneath a solid coating of 
ice and the ground is covered with snow; 
he follows the rivers down through 
miles of flat, snow-covered country until 
he finds open water again, where the salt 
of the sea comes up at every tide, and 
leaves mud-flats and marshes covered 
with weed and shell-fish, where “ Spear¬ 
bill ” can find more than he needs. 
During the winter he has more than 
one narrow escape from men with guns 
who are out after ducks, but are always 
ready for a shot at a “ Hernshaw ” when 
they can. However, he keeps a sharp 
look-out, and manages to save himself, 
but some of his companions are not so 
fortunate, and when the frost breaks up 
there are fewer Herons to go back up 
the river than came down. 
A Narrow Escape. 
Spring comes round again, and all 
the old birds go back to the elms to 
nest. “ Spearbill ” cannot understand 
the bother made, and keeps away from 
it all, for he has not yet attained his 
full plumage, and does not hear the call 
which another season will be his. He 
feels, however, his strength growing 
upon him as the spring advances, and it 
impels him to take longer flights up and 
down the .stream and over mere and fen, 
and during that summer he catches fish 
and frog and eel for twenty miles 
around, sometimes in company with 
other birds of the previous year who, 
like himself, have no interest in the 
noisv nesting going on at their old home. 
One day, when sitting on a favourite 
look-out tree, he saw a man coming 
steadily towards him across the fields; 
he waited until he felt obliged to move, 
and swung off at last at a steady pace, 
going with the wind. All at once, with¬ 
out any warning, there was a flash of red 
light and then a loud report, and 
“ Spearbill ” heard a hissing noise go by 
him, and at the same time felt some of 
his wing-feathers knocked hard and 
then go floating away in the air. He 
was almost over-balanced, and had a 
difficulty in flying steadily with one wing 
so badly damaged, but he managed to 
get away into a place of safety. 
