106 HOMING WITH THE BIRDS 



had covered a la France rose bush the night before 

 in order to save the buds as long as possible. I set 

 the bird on the rose bush and took its picture. 

 Then I gave it another drink. It sat straighter 

 and seemed to feel much better so I tried another 

 pose. Then I administered another drink and 

 put a fresh plate in the camera. By this time the 

 bird had fluffed its feathers and settled its plumage, 

 which had been somewhat ruffled through handling. 

 As I reached for the bulb to make a third exposure 

 the familiar hum of wings above my head told me 

 that my subject had taken leave of me. As far 

 as I could see the little creature, it headed its flight 

 due south. I doubt that it made a prolonged 

 stop until it reached Florida or Central America. 

 Perhaps my most puzzling experience with a 

 hummingbird occurred when Molly Cotton gave 

 her ice cream money to a boy as the purchase 

 price of a hummingbird he had accidentally hit with 

 a stone from his sling-shot. She brought the bird 

 to me, demanding in all confidence that I doctor it. 

 From the position in which it lay in her extended 

 hand I thought its back was seriously injured if 

 not broken. I had not the faintest idea how to 

 render first aid to an injured hummingbird, nor 

 could I fail the expectant eyes or disappoint the 

 tone of conviction in my girl's voice when she so 

 confidently demanded that I "do something." 

 More in order to convince her that I was doing 

 something than because I felt I could do anything 



