Floating around the bend, I pulled in among the shore bushes by a bit of grape-vine, and sitting down upon it, made my boat fast.  I had planned the trip with the hope of seeing this mink; so I waited, quite hidden, though having the pool in full view.  An hour passed, but no mink appeared.  Another hour, and the sun was breaking upon the beeches, and the mist was gone; yet no mink came to fish.  And what mink would?  Of course you must have it in mind to see a mink fish if you wish to see anything; but the day you really catch the mink fishing will likely be the day you went out to watch for muskrats.

So an hour’s waiting is rarely fruitless.  The mink did not come, but another and quite as expert a fisher did.  All the way up the creek I had been hearing the throaty ghouw-bhouw of a great blue heron off in the swamp.  It was he that came for perch.

The flapping of the great blue heron is a sight good for the soul—­an unheard-of motion these days, so moderate, unhurried, and time-contemning!  The wing-beats of this one, as he came dangling down upon the meadow opposite me, have often given me pause since.  If I could have the wings of the great blue heron and flap to my fishing now and again!

On alighting, however, he was instantly all nerve and tension.  With the utmost caution he came over the high sedges on his stilt-like legs to the brink of the creek and posed.  I doubt if a frog or a minnow could have told he was a thing of life.  Stiff as a stub, every muscle taut, all alert, he stood, till—­flash! and the long pointed bill pinned a perch, a foot and a half beneath the water.  He had quite made out a breakfast, when, stepping upon a tall tussock, he stood face to face with me—­a human spectator!  It was only for a moment that I could keep motionless enough to puzzle him.  Some muscle must have twitched, for he understood and leaped into the air with a croak of mortal fright.

II

The creek was roped off by the sagging fox grape-vines, and barred, from this point on, by the alders, so that I gave up all attempt at farther ascent.  I had already given up the mink; yet I waited under the beeches.

It was blazing overhead, growing hotter and closer all the time, with hardly breeze enough to disturb the sleep of the leaf shadows on the sleepy stream.  A rusty, red-bellied water-snake, in a mat of briers near by, relaxed and straightened slowly out,—­and softly, that I might not be attracted,—­stretching himself to the warmth.  I could have broken his back with my paddle, and perhaps, by so doing, saved the nestlings of a pair of Maryland yellowthroats fidgeting about near him.  He had eaten many a young bird of these bushes, I was sure—­yet only circumstantially sure.  Catching him in the act of robbing a nest would have been different; I should have felt justified then in despatching him.  But to strike him asleep in the sun simply because he was a snake would have robbed the spot of part of its life and spirit and robbed me of serenity for the rest of the day.  I should not have been, able to enjoy the quiet again until I had said my prayers and slept.