148 BIRD BIOGRAPHIES 



he was sitting on a small rock in mid- 

 stream, his white breast looking like a 

 snowball when the sun shone upon him. 

 Not for a moment could he keep still ; 

 all the time he sat there he was bobbing 

 up and down, turning round, now looking 

 up stream, the next minute flying to 

 another rock farther down, but all the 

 time he was moving. He was coming 

 nearer to me, for this rock on which I 

 sat was near the entrance to his bridge, 

 but he did not mind me ; he discovered 

 a day or two ago, when I photographed 

 him and his mate, that no harm would 

 befall him. A short way up stream there 

 was a narrow space through which the 

 water flowed, and this was a favourite 

 hunting-ground of his. On one occasion 

 I was fortunate to stalk right up to the 

 grassy bank while he was under the 

 water, and then, peeping over, I saw him 

 there. He came up for breath, then went 

 under again. The water was clear and 



