436 



Bird- Lore 



beyond the blue pin-feather cases; and, in addition, rufous feathers were inva- 

 ding the down of the breast. Their motions showed less skill than energy. One 

 of them, when clawing at my friend, Miss Wishart, hit his brother in the breast 

 and knocked him over. For the first time ejected pellets were found in the 

 nest — now would have been the psychological moment for mice ! 



When I had begun to think that the old birds and I had reached a friendly 

 understanding, they suddenly became more violent in their attacks than ever 



before, and swooped 

 so close to my head 

 that — honest confes- 

 sion is good for the 

 soul — suddenly recol- 

 lecting that a cowboy 

 in a hailstorm puts his 

 saddle over his head, 

 I turned my camp- 

 stool upside down on 

 my head, and walked 

 home! The only 

 worthy explanation I 

 could imagine for this 

 renewal of hostilities 

 was that the young 

 had left the nest, and 

 were scattered around 

 in the bushes, where 

 they were likely to get 

 stepped on. No mat- 

 ter where the old birds 

 met me, whether out 

 on the beach where I 

 was watching Ducks 

 or back over the 

 prairie where I was 

 examining prairie 

 flowers, it was the same old story. At last, one day when the gray Circus 

 had followed me around till my patience was utterly exhausted, I scolded him 

 roundly. To my surprise, he subsided meekly, and kept quiet long enough to 

 suggest that he realized he was overdoing it. 



The next time we went to photograph the young, although we worked 

 longer than ever before, the old birds had never been so little trouble. The 

 presence of a dog may have had a slightly deterrent effect. But, granting the 

 old birds common powers of observation, two facts were surely self evident by 



SITTING UP AND TAKING NOTICE 



