190 GAME-BIRDS A T HOME. 



then away he wheels for the broadVeach of plain 

 on whose carpet of green rolling in so many- 

 shades the little plover is trotting and the wild 

 goose is bathing in the sun ; then off he goes for 

 the hills, where the dark green of the manzanita 

 is brightening into new life and the tall shaft 

 of the yucca opening at the top into its great 

 panicle of greenish white. But no, this doesn't 

 suit him, and he whirls away for the lagoon, 

 where the burnished green of the mallard's head 

 is shining, where the white of the canvas-back 

 gleams on the open water, and the little cin- 

 namon teal is drifting along the edges. Here in 

 the dense ranks of the rushes that stand yet 

 green in winter's noon, where the voice of the 

 king-rail rings along the shore and the red wings 

 and yellow throats of hosts of blackbirds flash 

 amid the cat-tails, he will surely alight, for the 

 shores are muddy and there is both food and 

 safety. But no, he rejoices in the storm, and 

 fain would ride again the whirlwind of your fire, 

 and back he comes on a long tack, and with his 

 peculiar corkscrew spiral down he darts out of 

 the blue and settles perhaps right in your course, 

 scarcely a hundred and fifty yards away. Per- 



