A Sea-Birds' Haunt. 121 



glittering in his beak. So near is he that you might 

 almost reach him with your hand. 



They are all silent, but their looks and attitudes 

 express, as plain as words could put it, ' When will 

 this tiresome fellow go away ?' 



Now one stands up to flap his short black wings. 

 Another yawns j a second follows suit. Now one, 

 with great show of deliberation, crouches flat upon the 

 rock, as if he, at least, had made up his mind to make 

 a night of it, and tire the intruder out. Many of them 

 have tiny fish hanging from their beaks, and are, no 

 doubt, impatient to visit their nests, but are uncertain 

 whether it is safe to venture yet. 



But as time goes on, and you keep quiet, they gain 

 confidence at last, and one by one they fly down 

 from the rocks to the entrance of their burrows. 

 Pretty pictures they make, as they stand among the 

 tufts of thrift, with their dark backs and snowy breasts, 

 their neat black collars, their brilliant feet, their 

 strangely shaped and coloured bills. One stoops 

 down and peers into his burrow; then he turns to 

 look at you ; then he takes heart, and plunges in. 

 Another follows, and another. Ere long your pre- 

 sence is forgotten, and the birds resume their inter- 

 rupted duties without further sign of fear. 



The burrows here look as if they were the work of 

 the birds themselves, whose sharp bills and powerful 

 claws are well suited for mining in this yielding ground. 

 But puffins often make use of rabbit holes, and it is 



