AMONG THE WaTER-FOWL 
feet off. A few of them flew, as I crawled out to 
their nests, but the rest sat indifferent, knowing 
that the ledge sloped so much that no man would 
have: the: ‘hardihood! to reach) them.) The -enear 
creatures were going and coming, some of them 
bringing bunches of sea-weed in their bills to repair 
their nests, perhaps pillaged of material by their 
neighbours. Each had its single very large dirty 
white egg, usually in a fair snug nest of weed, 
but occasionally the egg was upon the bare rock. 
Probably the lining was to be added later. 
After supper I arranged quarters in the cellar 
for developing plates, and went to work on those I 
had exposed during the afternoon. As the darkness 
gathered, even there indoors, I could hear one sort 
of bird-note, all the other members of the colony 
having apparently relapsed into silence and slumber 
for the night. It was a funny little twittering or 
chattering, that seemed to come from all directions, 
and I recognized, from descriptions, the song—it 
almost deserves that name—of the Leach’s Petrel. 
They evidently were flying about, and, after my 
work was done, I went out to investigate. It was 
pitch dark, ee and I could see nothing of 
them, so I retired to secure needed rest. All 
night, in dream, I seemed to be crawling out on 
dangerous ledges after birds, and trying to save 
myself from falling. 
We were up early the next morning, and out 
before breakfast for a look at the birds. The 
weather was cloudy and windy, though there was 
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