lagoon; the turkey vultures sweeping and soaring against the sky; the long-tailed marsh harriers searching the reedy plains for the small furred and feathered game on which they fed—all these, as they swung over, cast swift-moving shadows upon the waters, shadows which spread sudden fright because they might be cast by the tyrant's wings.
Gradually, almost imperceptibly the mild Low Country winter changed to spring. Along the edges of the woods far away across the marshes swamp maples flamed a brilliant red; a mist of green clothed the willows on the old ricefield banks; in the high air tree swallows swarmed like gnats; still higher, a mere speck against the sky, the first water turkey of the season drew circles between white pinnacles of cloud.
The frog choruses swelled louder and louder; the thicket edges rang with the songs of birds; golden jessamine, dogwood and Cherokee rose glowed and glimmered in the swamps. The first ospreys came, the first martins, company after company of migrating white herons. These and many other travelers from the lower South brought new life to the river marshes; but as these lovers of warmth increased, the duck legions diminished.
Flock after flock took wing and returned no more. The hardy mallards went first; then the pintails and the green-winged teal. One by one the
