ON THE STAMPING-GROUND 59 



mounted the blind and whirred just a few inches 

 above my head. The temptation to pinch his 

 toes was almost irresistible; and then as if dis- 

 cerning my thought, he hopped up on the kodak 

 itself! His toe-nails clinked upon the metal of 

 the finder and speed scale, and I feared every 

 moment that his feet might catch in the string 

 and thus make an ill-chosen exposure. When I 

 jerked the string and the focal plane shutter 

 banged under his feet, I think he fell over him- 

 self a time or two before getting under way in 

 his frantic leave-taking. 



To lie in the blind at the breaking of a late 

 May morning and listen to the glad voices from 

 the bird world upon the prairie is an experience 

 a thousand times worth while. And here as I lay 

 alone now, waiting for the return of the startled 

 revelers, I had entertainment of another sort, 

 the wonderful bird orchestra of the plainland in 

 spring. It was an orchestra of twenty or more 

 parts, and innumerable performers; a composi- 

 tion without end ; a melody that rose from every 

 quarter of the plain and filled earth and air with 

 a gentle, fairy-like humming and sweet murmur- 

 ing. It was the love-lyric of all the birds within 

 the circle of the horizon, more deeply magical 



