THE BULLFINCH 81 



speak, clap my hands, let off the focal-plane 

 shutter a terribly noisy thing and yet not 

 disturb their equanimity. They might look up, 

 or remain still for a moment after hearing a strange 

 sound, but it did not frighten them or drive them 

 away. It was only owing to this characteristic 

 that I was able to take any photographs at all, 

 for the nest was so shaded that instantaneous 

 exposures were quite out of the question. How- 

 ever, by making a noise I could sometimes induce 

 the bullfinches to remain quiet for a second or 

 two, and was thus able to give short time exposures. 

 Even then a large proportion of the plates were 

 very under-exposed, and still more were spoilt 

 by the birds moving. As time went on it was 

 practically impossible to get a good photograph, 

 for they had become so accustomed to all the 

 noises that I could make, that by the time the 

 young were half grown they were utterly indifferent. 

 They would go on about their business while 

 I clapped my hands and shouted; nothing would 

 startle them into attention nothing, that is, in 

 the way of sounds ; of movement they remained 

 as nervous as ever. If the tent cover shook, or 

 if I showed as much as a finger at one of the open- 

 ings, they dived in panic into the bushes. This in- 

 difference to noise, and terror of anything stirring, 

 is probably connected with the dangers they have 

 to fear. In wild life death is always silent: the 

 hawk swoops swiftly and unsuspectedly upon its 

 prey, the owl drops noiselessly out of the twilight, 

 and the cat creeps up on padded paw. That 



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