any large birds, some in the trees, some in the decaying underbrush,
and others on the ground. Here and there among the trees were nests,
looking like flat heaps of sticks. They were empty; but their sides, the
trees, and the ground were all spattered and befouled with the
chalky-white droppings of the careless colony. "Ugh!" shivered Dodo,
who had a very keen nose, "what an ugly place to live in, and such a
horrid smell! Please, uncle, don't these birds have dreadful headaches
very often?"

"I think House People would have wretched headaches if they lived
here--in fact, we must not stay very long; but it agrees with Herons,
who are built to be the wardens of just such places."

"There are two kinds of Herons here," said Rap. "Some black and white,
with a topknot, and some striped brown ones. Aren't the brown ones
Bitterns? They look like one I saw in the miller's woods, and he called
it a Bittern."

"The striped ones are the young birds, now wearing their first plumage.
Bitterns prefer to live in freshwater meadows, or near ponds. They are
solitary birds, keeping house in single pairs, and after nesting-time
wander about entirely alone."

"Isn't it very hard to tell young Night Herons from Bitterns?" asked
Nat.

"It would be easy for you to mistake them, but the habits of the two
species are quite different. The Bittern nests on the ground, in a reedy
bog, not in the woods, and may be seen flying in broad daylight, with
his long legs trailing behind him. But in spite of this, he is a
difficult bird to find; for if anything is 'remote, unfriendly,
solitary, slow,' it is the American Bittern, who often stands motionless
among the reeds for hours."

"That is just what the Bittern did that the miller and I saw," said Rap.
"We were hunting for a calf--the miller's things are always straying
away, because he never mends his fences--and this Bittern was among
some very tall grasses and dry flags; for it was along in the fall,
when things were turning brown. I don't know how I ever came to see him;
but when I did, he looked so queer that he almost scared me, and I said
to the miller, 'Whatever is that?'

[Illustration: American Bittern.]

"For a minute he couldn't see anything, and then he said, 'Pshaw! that's
only a Bittern; but I do wish I had my gun.'

"'Why doesn't he move?' said I. 'Look at the way he holds his head
straight up, like a stick. I'm going round behind him to see what his
back looks like.'

"'He