forked scissor -tail, and to go out across the The Tribe 

 fjords and above all the meadows and pastures jf the 

 and keep crying incessantly Tyvit-Tyvit-Tyvit 

 (i.e., I stole them ! I stole them !). I think, 

 however, I have heard or read the same story 

 in connection with the wagtail. In his in- 

 teresting book on the Manners and Customs 

 of the Russian People, Mr. Ralston has the 

 following Slavonic plover-legend. When God 

 had created the earth, and wished to supply it 

 with seas and lakes and rivers, He ordered the 

 birds to convey the waters to their appointed 

 places. All obeyed except the lapwing, whose 

 reason for this indolence and impiety was that 

 it had no need of seas, lakes, or rivers, to slake 

 its thirst. At that the Lord waxed wroth, 

 and forbade it and its posterity ever to 

 approach a sea or stream, and that it might 

 quench its thirst only with that water which 

 remains in hollows and among stones after 

 rain. So from that time this sorrowful 

 plover has never ceased its wailing cry of 

 Peet-peet ! (i.e., Drink ! Drink !). In another 

 northern book (Thiel's Danish Traditions, 

 vol. ii.) there are two lap wing -legends not 

 less homely than the Russian and the Swedish. 

 When Christ, says one, was a bairn, He 

 took a walk one day and came to an old crone 

 who was busy baking. She said she would 

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