BIRDS WITH A HANDICAP 



the young, or even the eggs, in her mouth to a place of 

 safety when they have been intruded upon. 



The Nighthawk, like the Whippoorwill, is very 

 tenacious of its nesting location. Year after year the 

 pair will resort to the same identical low flat rock in 

 the old pasture or hay field, or to another close by. 

 The eggs are laid at about the same time as the Whip- 

 poorwills*. It is often fearfully hot on the unshielded 

 rock, out in the glare of the summer sun, but the bird 

 sticks bravely to her task and seems to know no such 

 thing as sunstroke. 



Just as the Whippoorwill blends with the brown of 

 the dead leaves, so does the Nighthawk with the gray 

 of the weather-beaten rock. Not long ago I conducted 

 a party of ladies, members of a bird club, to inspect a 

 Nighthawk on her nest. There were ten of them, and 

 in extended line we approached the spot, a low flat 

 rock just projecting from the ground, in a hay field. 

 When we were perhaps twenty feet away, we stopped, 

 and I pointed to the motionless bird. Ten pairs of 

 field glasses were leveled at the poor, modest creature. 

 This aggregation must have looked about as formidable 

 to her as a company of soldiers aiming their rifles would 

 have done to us. She was relying, though, on her pro- 

 tective coloration, and, indeed, not one of the enthusiasts 

 was able at first to make her out. At last, one by one, 

 each with a squeal of delight, made the great discovery. 

 They fairly stared her out of countenance, for, as we 

 drew a little nearer, she fluttered off, dragging her wings 



109 



