THS KINGFISHER'S HJU^JTS 21 



The hole which the birds have cut, in sand that has 

 hardened almost into rock, is in this case not more than 

 eighteen inches deep, and measures barely four inches in 

 diameter. It slopes slightly upward, as if to keep out 

 the rain, and expands at the end into a sort of chamber 

 perhaps six inches across. The whole floor is strewn 

 with dry shells of shrimps, and bones of tiny fishes. 

 There is nothing in the least suggestive of a nest. The 

 remains are no thicker in one place than another, but 

 are scattered in a thin layer from end to end. On the 

 loose fragments lay, when first the nest was found, five 

 exquisite eggs. 



The kingfisher itself loses much of its beauty with its 

 life. After death its marvellous colouring begins rapidly 

 to fade. In the hands of the average bird-stufier the 

 soft roundness of the feathering, on the head especially, is 

 crushed and marred. But the egg, which, when it is 

 fresh, glows like a very opal, is robbed of all its charm 

 when the yolk which showed its rich colour through the 

 smooth white shell is once withdrawn. 



But this sea-beaten shore is not by any means an ideal 

 halcyon's haunt. Let us rather follow the path that leads 

 through the meadows past the mill a path now hardly 

 seen among the long grass, still unmown and, under 

 grey old willows, wander with the wandering brook. 



A creek that drains into the little river, crossed by a 

 single unhewn log, is filled to the very brim with sedges 

 and burr-reed and tall water plantain. Red flowers of 

 willow-herb look, over plumes of mare's tail, down into 

 quiet pools which the current has worn under the banks. 



