BIRDS WITH A HANDICAP 



but not the mother. Meanwhile, the poor chick chirped 

 hungrily and made my heart ache for it. Finally, well 

 along in the afternoon, I heard the familiar buzz, and 

 when the mother came and fed the chick gratitude and 

 delight welled up in my soul. The old hummer now 

 returned at frequent intervals and I secured four more 

 pictures. 



On this trip I had the pleasure of the genial and lively 

 society of Ned. He was greatly interested in the 

 various sights and proceedings and assisted me in a 

 number of ways. But the long wait for the return of 

 the mother bird proved too slow for his sanguine 

 temperament. The lake shimmered enticingly through 

 the woodland foliage, and there were fish in it too! I 

 saw that Ned was casting wistful glances in that direc- 

 tion and then toward the nest and the expected hum- 

 mer. He wanted to see the feeding process, but he did 

 want to "go fishin'," — like any other boy. Ned was 

 certainly a remarkably good ornithologist for his years, 

 but we would not give the impression that he was any 

 little old man, or a "dry-as-dust." That was not the 

 case, for he is a real live American boy and reads a 

 publication of that name. I knew just how he felt and 

 told him to go ahead and get a mess for supper. That 

 was the last I saw of him for quite a while. Toward 

 the end of the afternoon he came back with a string of 

 twenty-five and he was in time to see the mother hummer 

 give her youngster some supper. 



The following afternoon I drove my wife up to see 



U2 



