Wanderings of a Naturalist 



swift powerful flight, swaying, however, as the gusts struck 

 her. 



From the glens far beneath the smoke from several great 

 fires could be seen rising — for the scorching wind had now 

 blown uninterruptedly for many days, and the heather was 

 dry as tinder. 



But now the weather was rapidly changing. Away to 

 the south-west thunder clouds swiftly formed. In a very 

 few minutes the sun was blotted out and the mutterings of 

 thunder were heard, while away westward the hills became 

 dim, and took on a curious copper-coloured appearance. 



In the air was that acrid scent that so often accompanies 

 a thunderstorm, and it seemed as though we should have that 

 interesting, though awe-inspiring, experience of a thunder- 

 storm actually in the clouds, which were now touching the 

 plateau. 



But the hills were so parched that there was no attraction 

 for the vapours with their moisture, and almost as soon as it 

 had formed the storm passed and the sun shone out once 

 more. 



Crossing the plateau there appeared an unlooked-for 

 visitor — a black-headed gull, a bird of the low country. 

 Following the little burn, he soon reached the top of the 

 precipice, when the wind caught him and lifted him vertically 

 a full hundred feet into the air before he recovered his 

 balance. 



For a dotterel, the particular bird of which I write was 

 not tame. That is to say, one had to sit not nearer than 

 fifteen feet from the nest to ensure his returning to his eggs 

 without delay. Far warier was he than a dotterel we had 

 just been photographing at a height of 3,000 feet above sea 

 level — that is, at the lowest level at which these birds nest. 

 But then this bird, even for a dotterel, was really absurdly 

 confiding. From the first he showed no fear of us, allowing 

 us to photograph him from a distance of six feet with supreme 

 trustfulness and being obviously annoyed when, by approach- 



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