WATER-BIRD WAIFS 



do so when migrating, or when compelled by the close 

 approach of some intruder. Then they will flutter 

 feebly up and drop into the grass before going many 

 rods. They have their run- ways through the tangle 

 of grass and weed, and run and climb with the greatest 

 of nimbleness. They are especially active at twilight, 

 and perhaps at night. In the dusk of the evening I 

 have seen them appear again and again at the edge of 

 some marsh, or scurry across open spaces from one 

 clump of reeds to another, and I have seen them run 

 on lily pads. I have found their nests, not so much 

 in the thickest tangles as near the border of a meadow 

 or bog, in the rather sparse meadow grass, where the 

 water is only a few inches deep. They build up 

 a little hollowed platform of dead grass among the 

 green stems, slightly above the water, and draw and 

 tie the ends of the grass over it, to form a nice little 

 canopy. All rails lay a large number of eggs, six to 

 thirteen ordinarily, and once I found sixteen in a 

 Sora's nest. 



The young of all rails with which I am acquainted 

 are covered with a black down, and, almost from birth, 

 are great runners. Once I tried to catch a young rail. 

 It ran out into a place where there were few stems of 

 grass, almost an open mud-flat. I sprinted along, 

 plastering myself with mud, but sure of my prize, 

 which I only wanted to photograph before releasing. 

 Just as I thought I could seize it, suddenly it stopped, 

 out there in the open, with next to nothing to conceal 

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