THE REED-PHEASANT 57 



men call them, for the cock reed-pheasant is very fond of 

 making these abortive attempts at nest-making. 



A week or so later, if you go into the swampy jungle (at 

 the end of March), and look carefully through those parts 

 where the quaking bog is knee-deep with chate, soft rushes, 

 or beaten-down gladen-stalks — for they invariably choose 

 a dense undergrowth of one or all of these marsh crops 

 wherein to lodge their nests — you may be on the look-out 

 for these curious birds running up and down the creaking 

 reeds, or making pheasant-like flights through the amber 

 stalks, cJiinging as they go. Once you hear the cock's 

 metallic cry, if you be nesting and are experienced, you will 

 suddenly stand perfectly still, and strain your eyes to catch 

 sight of the mice-like bird running up and down the reeds. 

 As you stand silently in the soft ooze, sinking in the water 

 above your boot-tops, you may observe him run up a reed- 

 stalk like a mouse and pick a piece of reed-tassel, and then 

 fly straight off to his nest, uttering a metallic cJiing, ching, 

 ching. Then start off through the reed-jungle as fast as 

 your waders will permit, keeping an eager eye upon the 

 reed-bush where he alights. If you are fortunate to have 

 come close to the nest, and possess your soul in silence, you 

 will soon see the little birds working about the reed round 

 about you, running to and fro like mice. In such plight you 

 may know you are too close to the nest ; so move quietly off 

 deeper into the jungle, and crouch in the dry, crackling under- 

 growth of chate, and watch stealthily as a tiger watches its 

 prey. Presently you will see the cock-bird betray the nest, 

 for he will begin plucking dry reed-feathers and dropping 

 them over his cradle. If experienced, your heart will jump 

 into your mouth as you bound forward and search amongst 

 the dry chate about from one to two feet from the hover 

 bottom, the old birds meanwhile having run off in the stuft 

 like little mice. There, cradled in the undergrowth of sedge, 

 you will, if fortunate, find the long nest, about nine inches in 

 depth, deftly woven of the dried bottom leaves of the reed, 



