“The grandmother and the sportsman stand in the door together and question her, and the splendid moment has come to speak of the dead hemlock-tree by the green marsh…..”
The grandmother asks Sylvia of her whereabouts the early morning. Sylvia is reluctant; she does not know whether to tell her and the sportsman of her adventure with the White Heron. The beautiful morning where she climbed high and heard the birds sing. If she told the sportsman would surely hunt the heron. She made a quick decision and confessed of her morning, and told the sportsman she could lead him to where the White Heron was. The sportsman was much exited and followed eagerly, but still stealthily for he was on the hunt.
Sylvia and the sportsman walked in silence, until finally they had arrived at the spot where the White Heron rested. The sportsman went into prone and Sylvia followed. She watched as he put a bullet in the chamber of his gun. The sportsman had a smile on his face, but Sylvia was almost in tears. “Why kill such a beautiful creature?” She thought to herself. The sportsman was slowly moving his finger to the trigger of his gun, took a deep breath. Sylvia hid her head and; BAM! She looked up to see the beautiful white creature motionless, and lifeless. She began sobbing, but the sportsman did not know why. She and the sportsman made their way back and he had paid the grandmother as he promised, thanked them for the hospitality and went on his way. Sylvia will never forget this moment, for she will never be able to fly with the White Heron again.
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