AND OTHER BIRDS 105 



was numbed and weak. I had backed off but 

 a few feet when the hen alighted in the sand, and, 

 settling herself six inches from the chick, 

 fluffed out her feathers till she became an 

 animated ball. The chilled runner did attempt 

 to rise from his grave of sand, but was again 

 bowled over by the gale. The hen herself then 

 moved this time near enough gently to touch 

 and caress him with her bill the most gentle 

 touch, the most tender caress. Once more to 

 the utmost she fluffed herself out, she let him 

 feel her shelter and warmth ; almost her feathers 

 touched him not quite and I have often 

 wondered if, even in extremity, it is thought 

 wise that chicks should help themselves. Her 

 encouragement, however, and proximity braced 

 him to move again, he managed to rise and 

 shake off. his shroud, and I could see him getting 

 on to his legs and straining into her down till 

 he was hidden from me in its dark warmth. No 

 one of the genii, arising in an Arabian tale, on 

 lonely shore, to frighted fisher folk, could have 

 appeared more awful than myself to that little 

 Dotterel hen. 



In the furious gale that hardly let me stand, 

 the handkerchief that bound my sou'wester to 

 my head, hummed from each loose end. My 

 oilskin waterproof filled like a balloon, blew out, 

 and galloped as drying clothes gallop on a line, 

 the torn edges flapping like flames and 

 parodying a dozen alarming sounds of 

 humanity. 



Immediately behind, a most enormous sea was 

 pounding on the beach, breaking so far out that 

 the clappings and thuds of the combers were 

 merged into one continuous roar of sound. It 



