428 EXGLISH BIRD LIFE 



the gloom. As one turns to look for the last time, 

 the inky bird-figures are still moving in all 

 directions on the golden road. 



Beyond the dunes, on the narrow margin of 

 shingle and sand which slopes to the sea, a little 

 bird may be seen running swiftly, and when 

 alarmed, rising with a soft piping cry, and alight- 

 ing again at no great distance. The Ringed 

 Plover is familiar here at all seasons of the year, 

 and it is rarely that one wanders about the sand- 

 dunes without catching a glimpse of the dainty 

 form as it follows the receding wave, or moves 

 feeding about the edges of the pools left by the 

 tide. 



Against the smooth surface of the sand the 

 jet-black collar and white breast are at once con- 

 spicuous. But let the little Plover but run upon 

 the belt of shingle, and at once the eye searches for 

 it in vain. The pebbles, smoothed and rounded by 

 the sea, are of varied colours — brown, black and 

 pure white — and these match the hues of its 

 plumage so completely that the small area upon 

 which the bird rests must be examined with the 

 utmost care before a living thing can be detected. 

 Upon the shingle, in a slight depression without 

 nest of any kind, the four eggs, of pale buff 

 streaked with black, are laid; and these again 

 harmonize so truly w^th their surroundings, that 

 even when found, if the attention be averted for an 

 instant, they seem to sink into invisibility. 



Open to every chance comer, without shelter or 

 protection of any kind, the eggs and nestlings owe 



