The Land of the Hills and the Glens 



It is not until the last days of April that the ringed 

 plover commence their nesting. Little enough of a nest do 

 they make, for after the manner of all the family of the 

 plovers they content themselves with a slight hollow scraped 

 out in the shingle, or amongst the sand dunes on which 

 the sun shines with a blinding glare during days of summer 

 heat. And, as plovers, they adhere to the habit that there 

 should always be a number of "cocks' nests," as they are 

 called, in the vicinity of the real nest. It may be that these 

 are the doings of the male bird during his display, or they 

 may be made by the hen in choosing the most favourable 

 site. Be that as it may, they are almost always present. 



One early May day the sun shone from a sky of deep 

 blue, and though there was still a nip in the sea breeze, 

 the waters of the ocean reflected the blue of the sky, and 

 only the smallest of wavelets broke, glinting in the sun, 

 upon the long beach of silvery sand that is the haunt of 

 "the ptarmigan of the waves." As I sat amongst the sand 

 dunes there came, from far out to sea, a company of bird 

 travellers, making for the island. As they neared me, I 

 heard that musical, twittering cry which is the call note of 

 the whimbrel. Wintering far to the southward of our most 

 southern shores, the whimbrel appear along the whole of 

 the western coast during the first days of May with such 

 regularity that they have earned for themselves the name 

 of "May birds." In the Gaelic they are known as "Guil- 

 binneach." 



Swinging in, then, from the sea the travellers alighted 

 upon the sun-baked ground close beside where I sat, and 

 spread themselves out, searching with their long, curved 

 bills for worms and suoh-like tit-bits. Near where they 

 were feeding I came across a ringed plover's nest with 

 two newly-laid eggs. In this case, although incubation 

 had not yet commenced, the owner of the nest showed no 

 little anxiety, running round me, and frequently uttering 

 her soft, plaintive cry. In this instance the nest had no 



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