THE DEAD TREE'S DAY. 
117 
shore, and moving across the mouth of the 
brook. Now it glided a few inches, then it 
paused. Ten minutes passed before it pro¬ 
gressed as many yards. It was the heron’s 
ghostly form. When he reached the eastern 
shore a light flashed across the lake and a voice 
sounded. He flew. I rose to go, but as I 
crept out upon the sand I turned to take a last 
look at the tree, and saw there the heron, stand¬ 
ing on a high limb, black against the sky. 
