SANDPIPERS, QUAIL, AND KILDEER 
ing, and flying from fence-post to fence-post 
and down to the tall grass, gave utterance 
continually to piteous cries of distress, more 
like a whistle or “cherr’’ than a bird note. 
It was a weird ventriloquistic sound impos- 
sible to describe, — 
«« The fresh, free cry of a prairie rover, 
The uncaged call of an upland plover.’’ 
They were evidently only a day old, and 
the empty nest with broken shells was hidden 
on the level ground just inside the edge of a 
clover-field. It was even a less pretentious 
nest than the sandpipers’, being only a slight 
depression in the earth with small attempt 
at lining or concealment. The five egg- 
shells were buffy white, spotted with choco- 
late and quite pointed. The nest was still 
warm, as if they had not been long away, 
and I wondered whether they would go 
back to sleep that night in the old nur- 
sery. However, this was some twelve miles 
from our camping-place, so we were not able 
to see. 
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