220 
WILD WINGS 
Wilson’s Plovers, and soon a large dock of Turnstones. 
Silently and swiftly I photographed them until my plates 
were exhausted, when I returned to the boat for more, and 
then went at it again. Not a bird saw me. Within a dozen 
feet they fed, bathed, preened their feathers, and rested, with 
no shadow of suspicion disturbing their peace of mind. 
A SPLENDID MALE BLACK-BREAST PLOVER.” “TIRED OF FEEDI.NG” 
Then I left them and went out to an open beach with the 
reflex camera. A large flock of small sandpijDers and some 
Turnstones, with a few Ring-necked and Wilson’s Plovers, 
were busilv feeding. l"pon hands and knees I crawled out 
to an isolated mangrove bush, close to the water’s edge. The 
birds fed up near to me, as I squatted there, without seeming 
to distinguish me from the bush. Some of them, one or two 
