THE TIDE HAS TURNED 567 
but it is better for us to take them all together now in 
April so as to be ready to recognize the first one that 
comes. 
“The Whip-poor-will comes first. It is a bird of the 
woods; in size a little less than the Robin, but of a 
build peculiar to its own family, long and low, a contrast 
heightened by its short legs and its habit of sitting length- 
wise on a limb and close to it. In short, it does not 
perch, it ‘squats.’ Its general colour is black, white, and 
buff, much streaked and mottled. Its tail is rownd, half 
of the three outer feathers white, giving the effect of a 
white spot. 
‘* All of you children of this wooded hill country know 
this bird that flies about the house and across the fields 
to the woods before dawn or soon after dark, making no 
more noise than the bats, until, stopping to rest, he me- 
chanically jerks out his name, ‘ Whip-poor-will-Whip-poor- 
will-Chuck!’ So lonely and mournful does the ery sound 
in the distance that many weird stories have been told 
about the bird. But when the call comes close at hand, 
it is more cheerful, though always startling. 
“This bird builds no nest, but lays its pair of dull white 
eggs, so marked that they blend with the earth like 
lichens and mosses, on the bare ground, or at best among 
a few leaves. But rash as this seems, the protective 
colour that nature has given to the parents, eggs, and 
young serves to keep them as safe as many another bird 
in a well-woven tree nest. 
“Then, too, aside from its picturesque qualities, the 
Whip-poor-will, as Mr. Forbush says of it, ‘is an animated 
insect trap. Its enormous mouth is surrounded by long 
