In the heart of a certain dense cypress swamp, in the middle South, lies a pond of water, which is fed by many streams winding and percolating their sluggish courses through the vast swamp lands. It is lonely and wild there. This is what makes the place such a safe retreat for the birds. Each spring they come back to this spot, the wood ducks, the bitterns, the teal, and the little blue heron family. Their flashing, brilliant plumage lights up the sombre darkness of the jungles, while their strident cries make the spot less lonely. Perhaps the little blue herons are the very noisiest of all. Wading in the water on their stilt-like legs, searching for minnows or crayfish, they are almost sure to have a quarrel if one of them gets a prize fish, and then what a clamour they can make. Away off in the swamp it sounds almost as if they were screaming back and forth, "Tell you what, tell you what," over and over again.  
One spring day after most of the birds had arrived at the pond, peering skyward from their fishing, they saw two specks approaching. Gradually the specks drew nearer and nearer, and finally, when they reached the precise spot where they meant to settle, straight down, like plummets, they fell, right into the swamp. Then all the other birds set up a noisy, clamorous welcome, for the great Snowy Egrets, the most important newcomers of the season, had arrived. Beautiful beyond description is the great Snowy Egret. Snow white is its exquisite plumage, that wherever it appears it lights up the dark, gloomy swamps and jungles with its purity. The beak and legs of the egret are black, its eyes a golden yellow, while from its back trails a wonderful long spray of soft, snowy plumes, which float behind like a white robe as it flies. These beautiful plumes are longer on the mother bird, and at nesting time she uses them to cover the baby egrets.
 
Having found a choice place in a stunted cypress, the egrets soon set about their nest building, choosing a site about forty feet above the swamp. Very affectionate and loving with each other are the egrets; whenever the male bird leaves the cypress, on his return he makes such a fuss over his mate, greeting her as joyfully and tenderly as though he had been gone a week. In fact, the egrets are gentle, trusting birds, and have few enemies among the wild. The father egret does most of the hard work too, for he gathers all the twigs for the nest, which the mother egret carefully builds. Taking turns, the egrets sit upon the four eggs, and in eighteen days the little, homely, featherless egrets appear, naked except for a few tufts of down. This makes them very tender, and the mother egret covers them over during the intense heat of the day with her soft trailing plumes.
 
At daybreak the father egret would fly off, returning with a crop or pouch full of tiny fish, and while the mother was away getting her own breakfast the young egrets were fed. Clinging to the edge of the nest, father egret would stretch forth his long, snowy neck over the little ones. And one by one he would produce the fish which he had brought home, only partially swallowed, and which the little egrets would gobble up quickly. It took such a quantity of food to satisfy the baby egrets that the old birds made many, many, trips across the swamp to the water during the day.
 
Now, although the desolate swamp country appeared deserted enough, excepting for its bird and wild life, back on the edges of the vast wilderness Italian families had located, to begin clearing up the jungles of wild timber, and drain the swamp lands. So this is how it happened that Tony and Papita, his small sister, came to live in the swamps. Not a very pleasant place to live in, but their father and mother were there, so they did not mind; besides, as Tony and his sister were too young to work, they had fine times exploring together. In the swamps they found plenty of wild, new things, wonderful flowers, and long mosses, and queer toadstools. Tony came across an old dugout one day, abandoned by some swamper, and then the children began to go upon voyages of discovery. They paddled up and down the narrow, sluggish streams which wound through the swamp, and each day they would venture a little farther. They were never afraid of the loneliness, or any wild thing they saw. Often a great snake would slide heavily off a log into the water, as they stole by in the old boat. At first Papita would shiver, but Tony always laughed at her fears, and now she had become quite as brave at swamp sights as her brother.
 
One day Tony almost thought himself lost; they found themselves in such a dense, dark spot. At first there seemed no way of getting through.
 
"We best turn back now, Tony," suggested Papita; "it's the end, I think."
 
"No, see, the light comes through, soon—we go on a little further." Tony paddled on manfully, and they leaned low to avoid the long, snake-like vines of bamboo. Sure enough, a few tugs of the paddles brought them right through the dark place, out into such a wonderful new spot, they were glad they had kept on. At first such a noise began around them, as the old boat shot through into the light, that Tony and Papita were almost afraid, until they found out what it all meant. Hawks whistled sharply overhead, and the air was filled with water-fowl, which arose from a little island in the middle of the pond they had entered. Wings flapped, there were harsh croaks on all sides, while the blue herons set up their "Tell you what, tell you what," cry.
 
The children stared about them in astonishment, and, as they stared, a strange thing happened. Right out of the skies, so it first appeared to Tony, a wonderful, snowy form came flying, trailing behind it, what appeared to the children, a beautiful white robe. Its great snowy wings were wide spread, and it finally settled in a dark cypress, where its wonderful plumes shone out so pure and white that both the children were awed by the strange sight. Now there was one thing only which they knew about, and which they imagined bore a faint resemblance to this white-winged thing: their mother treasured an illuminated card with a pictured angel.
 
"Say, Tony," almost whispered Papita, "perhaps it is an angel."
 
"No, no," replied more sensible Tony. "It's a real bird, but a kind of angel bird perhaps."
 
 ON HIS WAY TO THE NEST WITH A POUCH FULL OF FISH. 
ON HIS WAY TO THE NEST WITH A POUCH FULL OF FISH.
Thus did Tony and his little sister catch their first sight of the great Snowy Egret. After that, having once found their way to its haunts, they often came to the hid............