a feller might imagine himself in the heart of Africa, or some
other tropical country. Look at that big blue heron wading in the
water ahead, would you? There he flaps his wings, and is off, with his
long legs sticking out from under him like a fishing pole."

"Which is just about what they are," returned Phil; "since he has to
use them to get his regular fish dinner right along. There's a white
crane; and what d'ye call that other handsome white bird that just got
up, Tony?"

"Ibis. Ain't so many 'round hyah nowadays as they used tuh be. Some
fellers gits on tuh their roosts and nestin' places, an' kills the
birds when they got young uns. My dad just hates them critters like
pizen. He caught a cracker onct as done it, an' they give him a coat,
all right. He never dast shoot another bird ag'in, I'm tellin' yuh."

"Meaning that they tarred and feathered him?" said Phil, who was better
able to grasp the meaning of the swamp boy than innocent Larry, to whom
all such language was like Hebrew or Greek. "Well, I'm glad to hear
that your father has such notions. And it tells me he isn't the savage
some of these up-river people tried to make us believe. For any man
who would shoot the mother birds, and leave the young to starve in the
nests, just for the sake of a dollar or two, ought to get tarred and
feathered! Them's my sentiments, Tony!"

"Hear! hear! ditto! Count me in!" chirped Larry, nodding his head
positively; for he had a tender heart; and the plaintive cry of
starving nestlings would appeal to him strongly--even though he had
never as yet heard such a thing.

"I believe that a true sportsman ought to never destroy more game than
he can make use of," Phil continued, for the subject was one very close
to his heart. "My father taught me that long ago; and I've grown to
think more of it right along. I've known men to throw trout by dozens
up on the bank, when their creel was as full as it could hold. They
seemed to think that unless a fish was killed there could be no fun in
capturing it."

"Say, don't they call those kind of chaps game butchers?" asked Larry.

"Right you are, Larry; and I'm glad to see that you've got the breed
sized up to a dot. I'd let a deer trot past me without pulling trigger
if I knew we had all the meat we could use in camp."

"But just now that doesn't happen to apply," remarked the other,
pointedly.

"Hold the wheel for a minute, Larry, quick!" said Phil, in a low,