882 THE WESTERN GREBE. 
upon the back of the neck and lighter to whitish upon the underparts, and 
boasting six and a half inches of length including feet. Baby Spearbearer 
was not in the least shy; on the contrary he hailed us as long-lost friends, 
and struck out to meet us as we drew near. He had a fully developed 
instinct to follow cover or motion, for when we thrust him away upon 
the end of a paddle and dropped him in the water, he instantly struck out 
for the canoe again and was not satisfied until taken up in hand, It seemed- 
cruel to desert him, but what could we do? It is easier to pet up a waif than 
to send it home. Moreover, possibly it was our business. Let’s think, Jack. 
Hav'n't we heard that cry somewhere before? A hurried visit to the recently 
endowed nest confirmed our suspicions. The foster mother kept vigil on 
five eggs, but we had given her six. 
Western Grebes mate faithfully and spend much time in close and 
amicable association with their consorts. A proud sight is the male as he 
rows behind or beside his mate. One I saw arched his neck like a high- 
checked horse with bill close in and pointing down; and he maintained 
this conscious attitude for a number of minutes. As he did so the black of 
crown and neck, set off by the curving white core of the throat, made a 
perfect interrogation point. 
A courting evolution sometimes witnessed deserves, whatever its im- 
mediate significance, the name of wedding march, for it is a stately affair, 
participated in, so far as one can judge, by both male and female. In 
this, the female leading but probably under the instigation of the cock, 
they rise and tread the surface of the water standing upright the while 
with outstretched or quivering wings and with necks beautifully arched, 
and they strike the water so vigorously with their feet as to quite maintain 
their elevated position, and to make slow progress forward. The birds 
are never less than three feet apart and there is no apparent difference 
in behavior or interest. When a dozen feet or so have been covered by 
this stately march both collapse and plunge under water head first. This 
procession I have witnessed several times, and it was once participated in 
by three birds on equal terms. 
These are rare glimpses. For the rest the Western Grebe is a voice, 
high and broken, like nothing else perhaps so much as the creak of a 
neglected pulley-block. Krik, krik, — krik, krik, comes from off the blue 
waters of Bellingham Bay, and you think of the brown bastions and 
weedy recesses of Brook Lake in Douglas County. Krik, krik, — krik, 
krik comes the weird cry from off the bosom of the lake, a little anxious 
now as you bend over the side of your canoe to count the eggs; and you 
pause a moment to recall the distant fir tree and to sniff the salty air of 
Puget Sound. 
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