ea-dove is most happy, because it is
then that the waves are laden with small fish and crabs. During stormy
weather the little fisherman grows fat.

"Watch them as they fly. Do you see how they are constantly dipping
their bills into the water? That is their way of fishing.

"The sea-doves' nests are among the cliffs. In them they lay just two
bluish-white little eggs.

"Sometimes, when the winds are very strong, the sea-doves are blown far
inland. Sometimes they find their way back to the sea. But there are
other times when they do not return."

"And where is your own nest, O Great Blue Heron?" asked Phyllis, half
laughing at the queer, long-legged bird.

"It is over yonder on a rock," said the heron. "There are now four
dull blue-green eggs in the nest.

"Soon there will be four ugly, helpless birdlings, who will sit up and
cry for food. It will be at least three weeks after they are hatched
before they will try to wade out into these flat sea-marshes. I shall
have to let no fish escape me, if I do not wish the fledglings to
starve."

"You do not think your babies pretty?" asked Phyllis.

"No," said the heron, truthfully, "they are not even so good-looking as
other birds' babies. But that I do not mind, for will they not some
day be as beautiful as I myself?"

"Yes," said Phyllis, "I have seen your picture many a time. In
mother's room is a large screen and on it is your likeness embroidered
in silks. The long green grasses are growing about you in the picture.
One foot is drawn up and your head is drawn down between your shoulders
just as it now is."

"That is the way to rest," said the heron.

"What were you doing here?" Phyllis asked, wading a little closer to
the long-legged bird.

"I was fishing," said the great blue heron. "It is the one thing I
delight in. From morning till night--"

"My brother Jack--" began Phyllis, but the bird paid no attention.

"I sometimes stand here perfectly still for hours. I wait patiently
for the fish or the frogs to appear.

"Then I strike suddenly with my strong, sharp bill. I snap up the fish
or frog and give it a knock or two to kill it.

"Then I eat it. If it is a fish I swallow it, head first, so that the
scales shall not scratch my throat.

"But see, Phyllis, the sun has set, and I have not yet had my supper.
I really must leave you!"

Then the great blue heron rose slowly and silently and circled away
over the flat sea-marshes. Baref