THE HAUNTS OF COOT AND HERON 97 



here. The long coarse grass is virgin to human 

 foot, and, mixed with the short willow twigs which 

 struggle through, it forms excellent cover. We 

 must search here. The scrutiny is close ; every 

 tuft of tangled sedge grass is explored, yet without 

 finding anything. Just as we are about to give up 

 hope we are successful. Not where the cover is 

 thickest, but, after all, where the nest is best hidden, 

 we find it. The wild duck is a wary bird in all her 

 movements, but most of all is she careful in risking 

 the safety of her nest or her young. There are nine 

 eggs, large, warm, and nearly hatched, and of a very 

 pale blue colour ; for the eggs of the mallard have 

 not nearly so much green in them as those of her 

 domestic relative. The nest is made of dry grass 

 and is lightly lined with feathers. You have to 

 acknowledge that you are not superior to a slight 

 tightening of the throat at the sight of this nestful 

 of the large eggs of this shy bird. Yet you remember 

 that they are perfectly useless to you. You would 

 not, moreover, willingly remove one of them. It 

 is the fascination of meeting wild nature face to 

 face, and wresting her spoils from her fairly, which 

 stirs the old Viking blood. The strain is there ; it 

 breeds pirates or poachers, merchant adventurers 

 or world-builders according to circumstances. 



A movement overhead causes you to look up. A 

 great black bird, almost as large as a goose, but of 

 slimmer build, is circling in wide descending circles. 

 It is evidently going to alight in the water, but at 

 a distance, for it will keep carefully out of range. 

 The bird is a cormorant. Individuals of the family 

 often come here to fish in certain states of the 

 weather, and they prefer the still early morning. 



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