56 BIRD BIOGRAPHIES 



the Tufted Ducks seemed out of place 

 in such a scene of peace: The glory 

 of the spring had gone, summer had 

 passed, and now Nature was just showing 

 what she could do, and the picture 

 she had painted in tints of golden red 

 was wonderfully fair. From the reeds 

 near me, right away to the distant 

 bank, the sinking sun made a path of 

 gold, sparkling with tiny ripples ; it was 

 out into this dazzling water-lane that 

 I saw the Kingfishers go. Just a flash, 

 and then another of blue more brilliant 

 than the April sky, and another flash 

 of green that rivalled the green of a 

 bright May morning, and the birds were 

 gone. The next time I went down to 

 the lake I loved so well I found that 

 my birds had been driven away by their 

 parents, to seek fresh hunting-grounds ; 

 but all through the winter the two old 

 birds fished in their favourite haunts, 

 and the colour of their gay plumage, as 



