192 MUTTON BIRDS 



the hen bird sing. It was a cold, wretched day, 

 and the female, still rather shy, had not been 

 for some time on the nest and keeping the chicks 

 warm. From my position I could not see the 

 nestlings, but, fortunately, got a momentary 

 glimpse of the male bird going off with bill 

 crammed. Such an event I knew could only 

 result from one cause, the young were beginning 

 to stiffen with cold, and to lose the power of 

 erecting their necks and of opening their 

 mouths. Whilst I was hastily preparing to leave, 

 I saw him revisit the brood. With that happy 

 eagerness of approach, so characteristic of 

 birds returning to their young, he arrived, but 

 on the nest's rim paused as if in astonishment 

 at an apathy in his family, never before 

 experienced. By touches on their heads with his 

 beak, he endeavoured to stimulate the poor cold 

 nestlings. Failing in this and thinking then of 

 the sanitation of the nest, a branch of hygienic 

 work that with Tits always follows the feeding 

 of the chicks and with bill still full, he 

 rummaged about their tails as much as to say, 

 "Well, if you can't eat you might buck up and 

 try a what-do-you-call-um. " With instincts 

 utterly at a loss, he sang over them a shrill little 

 jar, and then hopped in great excitement or 

 indecision, or perhaps both, thrice across the 

 nest, and, after perching for a moment on a near 

 twig again flew off with his unaccepted beakful. 



At once I left the stage, and from a farther 

 distance watched the hen return. She held in 

 her bill an insect of some sort, and although but 

 half visible to me, she, too, must have offered it 

 and been amazed at refusal, for I again heard 



