Frank replied,—"You are right, Dick, and while man has only reason, animals have instinct and reason too. At least I believe that the larger kind of animals have some share of reason. I have never told you about our colley bitch. Last year she had pups, and she was very much annoyed by a cat which would go prowling about the building where the bitch was kept; so the bitch took the opportunity of one day killing the cat. Now the cat had just had kittens, and all were drowned but one. When the mother was killed, its kitten cried most piteously, and had to be fed with milk by the servants. The bitch had not known that the cat had kittens, until she heard the kitten scream, and then she showed as plainly as possible that she was sorry for what she had done, and took the kitten to her own young ones, and seemed quite fond of it. Whenever it was taken away she would go for it and take it back again, and the kitten grew up with the pups, and was inseparable from them. Now I call that reason on the part of the bitch, and the desire to make amends for the injury she had done—But hark! what is that?"
A low booming sound not unlike the lowing of a bull, but more continued, resounded through the marsh and then ceased. Again the strange note was heard, and the boys looked at one another.
"What can it be?" said Jimmy, as the noise again quivered on the moonlit air.
Death's-head Moth.
"I know," said Frank, "it is a bittern. If we can only find its nest we shall be lucky. It does not often breed in England now, although it is often shot here in winter. Let us listen where the sound comes from."
They listened intently, and after an interval the sound was again repeated. They believed that it came from a reed-covered promontory which ran out into the broad on its eastern shore.
"Let us take the punt and go over," said Frank; so they rowed in the direction of the sound. They rowed round the promontory, and penetrated it as far as they could, and all was still and silent, and they discovered nothing.
Early the next morning they renewed their search, and while they were crashing through the very middle of the reed bed, the bittern rose with a hoarse cry, and flew away with a dull, heavy flight. And there, as good luck would have it, was its nest, a large structure of sticks, reeds and rushes, and in it were four eggs, large, round, and pale brown in colour. It was not in human nature (or at least in boy nature) to resist taking all the eggs.