PROFESSIONAL FLY-CATCHING 



went thundering by. The concussion of the air almost 

 blew her off the nest, but she hung on and sat as firmly 

 as a cowboy in his saddle. It was usually the same 

 story, though once she left when a blundering freight 

 was half way by. 



The best fun came when the young were out and 

 about half grown. The mother, I think it was, usually 

 stood beside them, sometimes shielding them from the 

 sun, for there was no shade whatever. There was a 

 pond close by, and the father spent most of his time 

 watching the dragon flies darting about over the water, 

 now and then giving chase to one. They were nearly 

 a match for him in flight. Sometimes he would fail 

 and go back to his perch, but often enough he captured 

 his prey. As he approached home with his prize, he 

 always chattered a sort of triumphal march to announce 

 his coming. If his mate was not on the nest, she 

 hurried to it, both arriving at about the same time. 

 The young begged hard for food and their father would 

 begin to feed them. But mother yearned to assist, so 

 she would often lay hold of the dragon fly and pull 

 away till she had torn off a piece, which she would then 

 feed to the young. Meanwhile the camera was in 

 place and all ready, so at the favorable instant at differ- 

 ent stages of the process I pulled the thread and thus 

 secured a fine series of pictures. 



Of course Ned had to come in for his share of the 

 fun. One day I sat down in the shade and watched 

 him while he took my camera, set it up by the nest, 



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