AMONG THE WATER-FOWL 



on to the rock in a sort of open cave part way 

 down the side of a deep rift, a case of reversion 

 to the original habit of the species. At sunset we 

 mounted up on the highest part of the island, and 

 strained our eyes to catch sight of the schooner. 

 It began to get chilly, and our prospects seemed 

 excellent for an involuntary night-study of the 

 Petrels. But at last, sail ho ! In half an hour 

 the vessel anchored off the island, and we were 

 presently sailing back to Matinicus under the silver 

 rays of the moon. 



At this visit the Petrels had just laid their eggs. 

 Most of my other trips to their breeding-grounds 

 have been also at the laying-time, and I should never 

 have known the quaintness of the young Petrels, ex- 

 cept for one delightful morning on Seal Island, Nova 

 Scotia. This was in early September. From nearly 

 every burrow into which I inserted my arm, 

 whether in pasture, woods or gravel-bank, I drew 

 out a young Petrel. Some were completely feathered, 

 and, but for the down that still clung to the ends 

 of the feathers, they might have been taken for 

 adults. Others could not boast a single real feather, 

 yet were warmly clad in a dense gray down, a little 

 lighter in colour than the regular plumage. Between 

 these extremes there were all stages. But every 

 youngster that I examined was fatter and heavier 

 than an adult. There was not a parent with the 

 young in any of the nests that we examined. The 

 keeper of the light said that the old birds flew in 

 at night and fed the young. That they performed 

 this duty well was evident enough. I could not 

 but wonder, though, how late it would be in the 



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