Early one morning, while I was sitting in 

 the tree, a kingfisher swept up the river and 

 disappeared under the opposite bank. He 

 had a nest in there, so cunningly hidden 

 under an overhanging root that till then I 

 had not discovered it, though I had fished 

 the pool and seen the kingfishers clattering 

 about many times. They were unusually noisy 

 when I was near, and flew up-stream over the 

 trout pool with a long, rattling call again and 

 again a ruse, no doubt, to make me think 

 that their nest was somewhere far above. 



I watched the nest closely after that, in the 

 intervals when I was not fishing, and learned 

 many things to fill one with wonder and 

 respect for this unknown, clattering outcast 

 of the wilderness rivers. He has devotion 

 for his mate, and feeds her most gallantly 

 while she is brooding. He has courage, 

 plenty of it. One day, under my very eyes, 

 he drove off a mink and almost killed the 

 savage creature. He has well-defined fish- 

 ing regulations and enforces them rigorously, 

 never going beyond his limits and permitting 

 no poaching on his own minnow pools. He 



