THE BELTED KINGFISHER. 65 



Should the young birds be taken from the dark, 

 snug nest, they will creep into any hole, as the 

 baby woodpeckers do, up your sleeve, into your 

 shoes, under a board, or into a crack. However, 

 it is no easy matter to get the young. The old 

 birds will tumble along the ground, and make be- 

 lieve they are drowning in the edge of the water, 

 until they have taken you far from the nest, when 

 they will suddenly fly away with that loud, rat- 

 tling scream of theirs. This loud scream is the 

 only song of the kingfishers, even in their court- 

 ing days. They probably think it is musical. 



They are said to be fond of slow, solemn music. 

 Sailors make it for them, the birds sitting in the 

 ship's rigging, looking gravely down on the deck 

 and listening. Sailors and fishermen tame the 

 birds by tossing fish to them. The kingfishers 

 return at the same hour each day, either to the 

 sea-beach or the boat's side, just as our garden- 

 birds return for their meals to the table we set for 

 them. 



In some parts of England, the country people 

 have a strange sort of weather-cock in their houses. 

 They skin a kingfisher and stuff the skin with 

 spices, leaving it to dry in the sun. Then they 

 tie it by its beak to the rafter overhead, in their 

 humble homes, so it can. turn freely about. They 



W.S. R. VOL. 9 5 



