NESTLINGS OF FOREST AND MARSH 
ing harmonize with the brown of the water, 
and dead plant life, and the reflection of the 
sky, that it is very difficult to watch them. 
They were betrayed only by their efforts to 
learn the peculiar banjo-like song of their 
father. A faithful, untiring teacher he 
proved to be, patiently giving each note 
with great care and distinctness, as if he 
realized the responsibility of educating such 
wonderful musicians as those children were to 
be. When interrupted by the grunt of the 
bittern, or the squeal of the wigeon ducks, 
or the curious whinny of the “skiddies,” 
he would flirt his tail in impatient derision, 
wait for a silence, and begin over again. 
Soon he was rewarded by what seemed to me 
curiously like a spasm of nausea accompanied 
by a queer clinking sound on the part of 
one of the little ones. This was repeated 
over and over, and always with the curious 
humping motion before the note was uttered, 
as if it must be forced up from the region 
of his tail. I have seen cow-buntings do 
much the same thing in their efforts to sing. 
60 
