Terns 



scattered over here and there with clutches of eggs that so closely 

 imitate the speckled sand, one is apt to step on them unawares. 

 Only the slightest depression, lined with a wisp of grass or bit 

 of seaweed, is made in pretense of a nest; and as the gay moth- 

 ers leave the work of incubating chiefly to the sun, confining 

 themselves only at night or during storms, the visitor may be for- 

 given if the sound of a crushed shell under foot is his first intima- 

 tion of a nest among the dried seaweed or beach grass among the 

 rocks. It was Audubon who said there were never more than 

 three eggs in a nest; but Mr. Parkhurst, at least, has found four. 



Should the visitor reach the island in July, he will find great 

 numbers of downy young chicks running about, but quite depend- 

 ent on their parents for grasshoppers, beetles, small fish, and 

 smaller insects that are the approved diet for young terns. The 

 young are tame as chickens; but the old birds at this time are 

 especially bold and resentful of intrusion. Darting down to a 

 clamoring chick, a parent thrusts a morsel down its throat with- 

 out alighting, and is off again for more, and still more. Later 

 the food is simply dropped for the fiedglings to help themselves. 

 Still later, little broods are led to the ocean's edge, sand shoals, or 

 the marshes, to hunt on their own account; and by September, 

 old and young congregate in great groups to follow the move- 

 ment of the blue fish, that pursue the very small fish, "shiners," 

 that they also feed on. 



But whether flirting, nesting, hunting, or flying at leisure, 

 there is a refreshing joyousness about the tern that makes it a 

 delight to watch. In the very excess of good spirits one will 

 plunge beneath the water after a little fish, then mounting into 

 the air again, it will deliberately drop it from its bill for another 

 tern to dash after, and the new possessor will toss it to still 

 another member of the jolly flock, and so keep up the game until 

 the fish is finally swallowed. It has been suggested that terns go 

 through this performance to kill the fish, as a cat plays with a 

 mouse; but it is only occasionally they play the game of catch 

 and toss, and when all the company seem to be in the mood for 

 the fun. 



Another beautiful sight is the pose of a tern just before 

 alighting, when, with long, pointed wings held for a moment 

 high above its back, they flutter like the wings of a butterfly. 

 But then it would be difficult to name a posture of this graceful 



SI 



