280 HAMPSHIRE DAYS 



the-box action on his part never upset their nerves. 

 They took not the slightest notice of him, and were 

 altogether a more or less happy family, all very tolerant 

 of each other's little eccentricities. 



The little grebe fished for himself and for his sitting 

 mate ; he never seemed so happy and proud as when 

 he was swimming to her, patiently sitting on her wet 

 nest, with a little silvery fish in his beak. He also 

 fished for old decaying weeds, which he fetched up 

 from the bottom to add to the nest. Whenever 

 he popped up among or near the other birds with 

 an old rag of a weed in his beak, one or two of 

 the grown-up young coots would try to take it from 

 him ; and seeing them gaining on him he would dive 

 down to come up in another place, still clinging to 

 the old rag half a yard long; and again the chase 

 would be renewed, and again he would dive; until 

 at last, after many narrow escapes and much strategy, 

 the nest would be gained, and the sitting bird 

 would take the weed from him and draw it up and 

 tuck it round her, pleased with his devotedness, and 

 at the sight of his triumph over the coots. As a rule, 

 after giving her something a little fish, or a wet weed 

 to pull up and make herself comfortable with they 

 would join their voices in that long trilling cry of 

 theirs, like a metallic, musical-sounding policeman's 

 rattle. 



It was not in a mere frolicsome spirit that the 

 young coots hunted the dabchick with his weed, but 



