THE DUCK-MOTHERS 79 



a score of sharp-tailed grouse " poom-pooming " 

 identically where a hundred generations of their 

 forefathers danced before them; on the distant 

 marsh, the soft " mooming " of the pinnated 

 grouse; red-wing's happy, homely strains from 

 the rushes along the little stream in the ravine — 

 these were some of the familiar voices that greeted 

 me as I tramped along, glad that I had a kodak 

 hobby to lure me afield. 



The four-horse team was just being hitched to 

 the breaking-plow when I arrived, and I went 

 out behind it to the field where Madame Spoon- 

 bill was said to dwell. She had chosen as a site 

 for her nest a flat piece of grassy prairie, situ- 

 ated about a hundred yards from a small slough. 

 It was within a few feet of the fence, or the plow 

 would have played sad havoc with it ; as it was, she 

 had almost been trodden upon before fluttering 

 out from among the horses' feet. The nest struc- 

 ture was the usual Spoonbill affair, — a blanket 

 woven of down and soft grass fibers, lining a 

 slight hollow in the ground and holding the ten 

 greenish treasures. There was not one spear of 

 grass or weed unlike another to serve as a land- 

 mark; and doubtless if we had allowed Madame 

 time enough to adjust the coverlet and arrange 



