THE AMERICAN AVOCET. 689 
The birds were driven to the very limit of frenzy, dancing, wing-trailing, 
swaying, going thru last convulsions and beginning over again without regard 
to logical sequence, all in an agony of effort to divert attention from those 
precious eggs. It may seem cruel to have harassed them so, but we were 
sustained by the integrity of our purpose, which was not robbery, but snap- 
shottery; and we neglected no opportunity to work upon their feelings. 
Neighbors came up and looked on sympathetically, or joined in the clamor. 
As time elapsed, however, the color of the play changed. Finding that the 
appeal to cupidity was of no avail, the birds appeared to fall back upon the 
Photo by the Author. 
HOISTING THE SIGNAL, OF DISTRESS. 
appeal to pity. Decoying was useless, that was plain; so they stood with up- 
raised wings, quivering and moaning, in tenderest supplication. It was too 
much even for conscious rectitude, and we withdrew abashed. 
Chancing to exhibit my photographs to some friends in a Seattle store, 
a stranger asked permission to see them. “Why,” he exclaimed, “those are 
the very birds I saw over at ————— Lake a few weeks ago. Curlews, ar’n't 
they?” ‘‘No,” T said, “something like them, but a deal handsomer; Avocets.” 
“Beautiful! Beautiful!’ Then with a sigh, “Ar’n’t many left, I guess; a 
fellow killed twelve of them the day I was there.” 
