Where the Black Tern Builds 91 



scarlet and gold, none will gainsay. Can't we give a kernel 

 or two of corn ungrudgingly to a creature that adds some- 

 thing of living beauty to the dreary wastes of swamp-land? 



The long-billed marsh wrens are abundant in the Worth 

 country. These birds have the curious habit of building 

 several nests before they make up their minds which one to 

 occupy. The scientists have been hard at work for years 

 trying to find a reason for this bit of wren freakiness. The 

 scientists are still at work, for no one yet knows the reason 

 save the wren, and the wren won't tell. We flushed from 

 the edge of the marsh that morning a Bartram's sandpiper. 

 This bird is, I believe, the largest of the sandpiper kind. It 

 makes its summer home at Worth, and occasionally has for a 

 neighbor its plover cousin, the lesser yellow-legs. When 

 splashing through the water to get a better look at the sand- 

 piper who had taken to some high ground, I found floating 

 the broken egg of a king rail. The egg told the story of a 

 nest built too low, of heavy night rains, and a flooded abode. 

 King rails are interesting creatures, notwithstanding the fact 

 that it is to be doubted if they have any brain. They are 

 big, blundering, stupid birds who get themselves into all sorts 

 of predicaments, out of which, of themselves, they can find no 

 means of extrication. A friend of mine once found a king 

 rail standing in the middle of the sidewalk near the corner of 

 Schiller Street and the Lake Shore Drive in Chicago. The 

 bird paid but little heed to passers, but seemed to lack the 

 wit to get away from such uncongenial surroundings as stone 

 pavements and brick walls. The men in a North Clark Street 

 barber-shop in the same city were astounded one day to see 

 an ungainly bird make its way through the open door to the 

 center of the shop, where it calmly surveyed the surroundings. 



