THE DOTTEREL 219 



An incident not without humour occurred one day 

 when I was on the hills at the end of June with a 

 veteran keeper. The locality was one of the very few 

 where the Dotterel nests comparatively close to civilisa- 

 tion, and although the season was rather too late to find 

 Dotterel still brooding on their eggs, I was hopeful of 

 discovering some of the birds with their families. We 

 searched for some time a likely-looking hill plateau, where, 

 although we saw at least one pair of Dotterel, we could 

 find no indications of young birds, until, having almost 

 abandoned our search as a useless one, we disturbed a 

 Dotterel, which, from her behaviour, gave unmistakable 

 signs that she had young. We decided on remaining 

 quietly, lying full-length on the ground, in the hopes that 

 the young Dotterel would show themselves. Some minutes 

 passed, then first one small bird, closely followed by a second, 

 moved and was marked down. Still we waited for the third 

 member of the family, which, however, failed to put in an 

 appearance, so at length we rose up to photograph the two 

 representatives which we had marked as they crouched. 



But as we regained our feet a tragedy was discovered. 

 A small, half -squashed ball of down was revealed lying 

 on the spot which a few seconds previously had supported 

 the keeper. Life still remained in the unfortunate chick, 

 but although I took it back to the keeper's house, where I 

 was quartered, and it was rolled in flannel and placed 

 before the fire, it succumbed to its injuries before the 

 night was out. 



The surprise and regret of the old Highlander who had 

 unwittingly been the cause of this tragedy was quite 

 touching, and he assured me that he had " never in his 

 life done such a thing before — no, never." 



The two surviving chicks afforded good material 

 for the camera, and while I was photographing them 

 the parent bird, in its anxiety for the welfare of its 



