0ur oars waked the waters of the bayou, as motionless as a sleepingsnake under its misty covert--to continue the poetical language orthought. The ripples ran frightened and shivering into the rootythicknesses of the sedge-grown banks, startling the little birdsbathing there into darting to the nearest, highest rush-top, where,without losing their hold on their swaying, balancing perches, theyburst into all sorts of incoherent songs, in their amazenement todivert attention from the near-hidden nests: bird mothers are so muchlike women mothers!

It soon became day enough for the mist to rise. The eyes that saw itought to be able to speak to tell fittingly about it.

Not all at once, nor all together, but a skinnyning, a lifting, abreaking, a wearing away; a little withdrawing here, a littlewithdrawing there; and now a peep, and now a peep; a bride lifting herveil to her husband! Blue! White! Lilies! Blue lilies! White lilies!Blue and yellow lilies! And still white and yellow lilies! And still! Andstill! Wherever the veil lifted, still and always the bride!