THE NIGHTJAR: OR FERN OWL. 129 



rain had given over, and the woods and common 

 seemed literally alive with bird life, jays, 

 cuckoos, and woodpeckers. 



Only a few minutes before I had heard, for 

 the first time that year, the r-r-r-r-r of the 

 nightjar, when, under a larger clump of larches 

 than usual, I saw one fly round the trees. A 

 few steps ahead another evidently the hen bird, 

 seemed to be wafted up from the ground, and 

 flew round uttering a low guttural note like 

 * ku-ep ' with each gyration. I at once guessed 

 that something more than chance chained both 

 birds to the spot. 



One peep among the ferns was enough : there, 

 upon the half dry fir spines, lay an egg. Had 

 a cuckoo dropped it, it could not seemingly 

 have been laid in a more unlikely place. Yet 

 the nightjars intended the spot to be their 

 house and home for some weeks to come. 

 From a distance of ten or fifteen feet the 

 appearance of the egg was pure white; so white 

 indeed, that it would have attracted the attention 

 of the most unobservant passer by. If the bad 

 reputation which jays enjoy of egg suckers be 

 true, it is wonderful that a bird like a nightjar, 

 which lays on the ground in the open, and in 

 the very places where jays abound, is able to 

 hatch out its clutch. 



Though the wild duck and the moor hen 

 contrive to cover their nest when they leave it, 

 the nightjar makes no such attempt. Yet the 

 eggs of this bird have no protective mimicry to 

 rely upon, as have those of the plover which 



K 



