The Music of the Marsh 



tween the notes of the male away pleasuring and 

 those of the brooding mother. Early in incuba- 

 tion she deserts her nest as readily as any other 

 bird; near its close, when she feels against her 

 breast the workings of small feet and wings quick- 

 ening into life, when to her ears come the first 

 faint calls of her shell-incased babies, the music of 

 Elysium has touched her heart, she becomes pos- 

 sessed with the spirit of martyrdom, ready to die 

 at her post. If she sees your approach in time to 

 dart a rod from her nest, by feigning a broken 

 wing she almost invariably can tole you from her 

 location. If you take her unaware she stands 

 astride her eggs, valiantly pecking at your hand, 

 and frequently suffering your touch like a brood- 

 ing domestic bird. 



Who that has seen a killdeer nestling can 

 blame her? In all bird-babyland there is nothing 

 more cunning to see or more appealing to hear. 

 They have a tiny, w r edge-shaped body little over an 

 inch in length; a small, sharp beak for probing; a 

 cap of speckled pepper and salt, with a black band 

 and a white visor; a broad collar, snowy white, with 

 a black tie ; a white vest shading to delicate salmon 

 in the under parts; a coat and upper sleeves to 

 match the cap crown, with elbow bands of black and 

 lower sleeves of white, and the legs bare well above 

 the second joint for wading. This is as it should 

 be; for, think what a pity to soil so elegant a suit 

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