i68 IN BIRD-LAND 



the twisted roots Moor-hens will often build. 

 Last year a pair did so within a few feet of a 

 public path, and so skilfully concealed was their 

 nest, that it escaped the notice of the numerous 

 small boys who infest the neighbourhood in search 

 of eggs. 



One day, while passing this spot, I had the 

 pleasure of seeing the young, in charge of their 

 mother, swimming about ; but the old bird's watch- 

 ful eye soon caught sight of me ; she swam quickly 

 away, the young scuttling off in all directions and 

 hiding in any available odd kind of place, as only 

 youthful Moor-hens can do. I remained quiet, 

 and presently their tuneful cry, jo-e, jo-e, was 

 heard from different directions ; then something 

 that looked like a stone seemed suddenly to come 

 to life ; another emerged apparently from nowhere, 

 while others appeared to come out of the very 

 banks, to swim hither and thither picking up flies 

 or other food from the surface of the water. But 

 " mother," who was still in hiding, showed signs of 

 uneasiness, and called quietly but harshly, krra- 

 rek ; the little ones then hurried towards her, and 

 disappeared underneath a thick bramble bush, the 

 branches of which dipped into the stream. The 

 old bird had evidently told her children to keep 

 quiet ; and thus no amount of patience seemed 



