76 SUMMER 



his life. She spread a wing, put her bill behind him 

 and shoved him quickly in out of sight with her 

 own baby. The man with the camera saw the act, 

 for I heard his machine click, and I heard him say 

 something under his breath that you would hardly 

 expect a mere man and a game- warden to say. But 

 most men have a good deal of the mother in them ; 

 and the old bird had acted with such decision, such 

 courage, such swift, compelling instinct, that any 

 man, short of the wildest savage, would have felt his 

 heart quicken at the sight. 



"Just how compelling might that mother-instinct 

 be?" I wondered. "Just how much would that 

 mother-love stand?" I had dropped to my knees, 

 and on all fours had crept up within about three 

 feet of the bird. She still had chance for flight. 

 Would she allow me to crawl any nearer? Slowly, 

 very slowly, I stretched forward on my hands, like 

 a measuring-worm, until my body lay flat on the 

 rocks, and my fingers were within three inches of 

 her. But her wings were twitching, a wild light 

 danced in her eyes, and her head turned toward 

 the sea. 



For a whole minute I did not stir. I was watch- 

 ing and the wings again began to tighten about 

 the babies, the wild light in the eyes died down, the 

 long, sharp beak turned once more toward me. 



Then slowly, very slowly, I raised my hand, 

 touched her feathers with the tip of one finger 



