244 
WILD WINGS 
I returned to the yacht and set sail, but I confess to a pardon¬ 
able pride in the fruit of that endeavor. 
On that same sand-bar was another pair of Oyster-catchers, 
but I could find no nest. When I returned a week later, — 
the middle of May it was, — some hunters, who had just been 
ashore there, told me they had seen a large young Oyster- 
catcher running about, had caught it, after a hard chase, 
and then had let it go. This was at night, and next morning 
I thought I would find and photograph the youngster. Two of 
us hunted that strip of barren sand from end to end without 
being able to detect a sign of the object of our search. \Vhere 
could it be ? There was not a blade of grass to hide it, nothing 
whatever, and we had examined, we thought, every foot. 
Once more we canvassed the ground, with the same result. 
We were back almost to the point of the bar, off which lay 
the yacht. There were still fifty yards of smooth, wet sand, 
absolutely bare, — no, except a little insignificant wisp of drift- 
weed at the water’s edge, as big as my hand. Of course it 
was of no use to walk farther. But somehow it came into my 
head to go out and look at that seaweed. Lo and behold, if 
there did not lie the young Oyster-catcher flat on the sand, 
absolutely motionless! The bird was about as large as the 
seaweed, and it was as pretty a piece of hiding as I had ever 
seen. 
The young rascal never moved a feather while it was 
being photographed. But when I thought to take it stand¬ 
ing, we had a long, hard tussle. Finally I conquered by sheer 
persistency, putting my cap over it and removing it sud¬ 
denly, to snap. When I let it go, it was comical to see 
those long, stout legs measure off the rods over that sand 
toward its fond parents, apparently shouting, — in gesture, 
if not in voice, — “ Mamma, mamma, here’s your little 
oyster-cracker coming like a good one.” The whole per- 
