him from time to time no longer startled him. He had discovered that they were all made by harmless herons and snakebirds. Ordinarily, swiftly moving shadows like these scared him badly, but now he paid no further attention to them. Two Florida gallinules walked close by him, apparently without seeing him, talking volubly to each other. Wise in the ways of the water-folk of the lagoon, they may have seen the periscope of the long, armored submarine coming gradually nearer and nearer, and possibly its slow, menacing approach was the subject of their conversation. To the cottontail, however, their language was meaningless and he gave no heed to them or to their gabble.
The anhinga on his nest watched in silence, his gaze shifting back and forth between the cottontail and the two black spots out in the lagoon moving so slowly that the movement was barely discernible. Minutes passed, and presently the anhinga's attention was diverted to the three gray squirrels which, more lively and more agile than their handsomer, darker-gray, white-nosed kinsmen, were playing a game of hide-and-seek in a water oak, some of the branches of which projected far over the quiet waters of the lagoon.
They were happy little people, these squirrels, next to the otters the most playful of all the furred folk of the swamp woods. Here and there amid
