In the tops of the cottonwoods live a number of baronial families in castles huge, gray and ugly, overlooking the sweep of the stream. They are the Great Blue Herons whose Latin title, (Ardea herodias), gives one some idea of their ancient lineage. They claim to be older than the storks of Egypt, and indeed, they look older as they stand humpbacked and sleepy on one leg by the side of their nests, the long fringe of light-speckled neck feathers underneath looking like a long gray beard sweeping over their recurved neck and breast. There is a wise look about them, too, for the black markings of the head sweep back over the eye and prolong into the appearance of a quill extending behind their ears. Though they are almost four feet long and spread their wings to six feet and over, the herons' large blue-grey bodies are often almost indistinguishable from the bark of the cottonwood branches and the blue of the sky against which they are silhouetted so oddly. One's eyes open with astonishment when these sticks or excrescences of the tree-tops slowly unfold an enormous sweep of sail and, extending their long stilts behind them, flap off across the stream with a creaking sound like the pulleys of a vessel when the halliards are running through them. Standing or flapping they are not handsome birds and one who comes suddenly upon a large heron for the first time as he stands in the shallow water of the brookside, will be convulsed with laughter, for if there is an utterly clumsy and awkward form or motion in bird-life it belongs to this heron. Their homes are big baskets of nests made of twigs as large as a man's finger, closely intermeshed. From year to year they use the same nest or build over it until it has two or three stories or more and is bigger than a bushel basket. There are probably two dozen nests in the dozen cottonwood trees, some of the larger trees having three or four or even six away up in their tops where the branches seem scarcely strong enough to bear such heavy burdens. From the top of the bluff one can look down into the nests and in early March see the big blue eggs, almost as large as hens' eggs, reposing like amethysts in their rough brown setting. Some authors state that not over three eggs are laid, but I have seen four about as often as three and, on one occasion, five in a nest.