i68 BIRDS OF THE WAVE AND WOODLAND 



in the nestinyf season come the islanders — men, women, and 

 children — and with short rods, at the end of which are nooses 

 of horsehair or string, drag the little " bougies," as they call 

 them, out of their burrows. The birds are plucked (the 

 feathers being carefully put by for sale), cleaned, rubbed over 

 with salt, and hung up in strings to the roofs of the cabins, 

 where the peat-smoke partially " cures " them, and in this 

 state they form one of the chief and choicest items of the St. 

 Kildan's austere fare. But altogether apart from its attrac- 

 tions at the "hardy Norseman's" winter board, the puffin is 

 a very charming little bird. Its very quaintness makes it 

 eno-aofine, for, whether you take it in profile, with its 

 grotesque beak in completest evidence, or full-face, with its 

 queer, owl-like look, its genuine unaffected comicality com- 

 mends it to your amused and kindly regard. For it is a 

 most amiable fowl. It never seems to quarrel with its kind, 

 and even when it does the disagreement is rather the make- 

 believe of clowns than in serious earnest. The puffin is 

 almost voiceless, its usual sound being a purring noise, which, 

 when it is submitted to the extreme indio-nitv of handling;, 

 becomes a kind of half-hearted orrumblinir. No birds are 

 more sociable than the '' sea-parrots " : they are never seen 

 alone, and even in their colonies they are not exclusive, 

 admitting any other sea-fowl that likes to join them to equal 

 rights of citizenship. But you must not put your fingers into 

 its beak. Puffins are not called "parrots" for nothing. 



