searching the Limberlost and the surrounding country for food.
The boom of the bittern resounds all day, and above it the
rasping scream of the blue heron, as he strikes terror to the
hearts of frogdom; while the occasional cries of a lost loon,
strayed from its flock in northern migration, fill the swamp with
sounds of wailing.

Flashing through the tree-tops of the Limberlost there are birds
whose colour is more brilliant than that of the gaudiest flower
lifting its face to light and air. The lilies of the mire are
not so white as the white herons that fish among them. The
ripest spray of goldenrod is not so highly coloured as the
burnished gold on the breast of the oriole that rocks on it. The
jays are bluer than the calamus bed they wrangle above with
throaty chatter. The finches are a finer purple than the
ironwort. For every clump of foxfire flaming in the Limberlost,
there is a cardinal glowing redder on a bush above it. These may
not be more numerous than other birds, but their brilliant
colouring and the fearless disposition make them seem so.

The Cardinal was hatched in a thicket of sweetbrier and
blackberry. His father was a tough old widower of many
experiences and variable temper. He was the biggest, most
aggressive redbird in the Limberlost, and easily reigned king of
his kind. Catbirds, king-birds, and shrikes gave him a wide
berth, and not even the ever-quarrelsome jays plucked up enough
courage to antagonize him. A few days after his latest
bereavement, he saw a fine, plump young female; and she so filled
his eye that he gave her no rest until she permitted his
caresses, and carried the first twig to the wild rose. She was