Along the Rock-bound Coast 



disappearing in quest of fish, and reappearing as 

 suddenly where we least expect them. 



We half conceal ourselves among the boulders, 

 and gradually the turmoil ceases. Puffins and 

 Razorbills settle close to us, but we keep quite 

 still and they pay no heed. Some re-enter their 

 holes how they can distinguish their own is a 

 marvel and some sit basking in the sunshine. 

 Now they are joined by others from the sea, hold- 

 ing crosswise in their beaks three, four or even 

 five small fish, whose heads and tails hang limply 

 down on either side. Can they be caught all at once, 

 or if not, how does the bird catch such slippery 

 customers in their own element, while its beak is 

 already almost full ? 



The attitudes the Puffins assume make it diffi- 

 cult to abstain from laughing, for now they put 

 on the quaintest parsonical airs and, at the next 

 moment, quarrel for no apparent reason, each bird 

 laying hold of the other with its beak and strain- 

 ing and struggling till one or both topple off the 

 rock. Then they strut solemnly to their holes 

 where, some three or four feet down, is a white 

 egg, about the size of a fowl's faintly marked 

 with violet ; or, perhaps, there is a young bird 

 such a pretty soft ball of long black down with a 

 large white patch on the stomach. 



Razorbills are not even as particular as Puffins, 

 since almost any hole or cranny gives it sufficient 

 excuse to deposit a large whitish egg more or less 



