Tor SUBMERGED TENTH 
shows the Gull with its bill thrust down into an 
egg, and a single Grebe in the water just beyond 
watching attentively what was probably the spolia- 
tion of its home. Perhaps it was fear of the camera 
that prevented the naturally expected attack upon 
the marauder. 
Another plate had then to be inserted, which 
I finally exposed when a party of Grebes were 
swimming by, just in front of the nests. These 
were the only two pictures secured in the greater 
part of a day of hard labour and nerve- -wearing toil. 
After this the thread became almost hopelessly 
tangled, and, despite long, exasperating effort, I 
got only another fogged plate at about sundown. 
And it was the last chance, too. Then, as I was 
taking up the camera, at eight o’clock and after, it 
dawned upon me that I had forgotten to eat my 
dinmer, though I had it with me in the boat. 
When I returned to camp almost at dark, the com- 
pany made merry over a fellow so much interested 
in birds that he needed a caretaker to remind him 
when he must eat. <“‘ A veritable rustic,’ perhaps 
the Grebes had been saying, staring all day, open- 
mouthed and absent-minded, at the sights of their 
great city. 
Within ten miles of this spot was another 
equally interesting, though very different Grebe-city. 
Extending far out from the shore, in water waist 
deep or more, grew a great area of canes, ten or 
twelve feet high. To get at it from where we had 
pitched our tent, I had first to wade across an arm 
15 
