i8o THE PSYCHICAL KINSHIP 



feels that it is in danger of future visits, she will 

 move her family at night to some other locality, 

 and it is practically impossible ever to find it 

 again. The family relations of the ring-dotterels 

 are said to be * so charming and touching that 

 even hunters recoil from shooting a female sur- 

 rounded by her young ones.' 



Human beings, true to their instinct never to 

 call into action their ability to think if they can 

 employ their faculty for nonsense instead, call this 

 love of the mother bird * machinery.' But there 

 are some of us (and our numbers are increasing) 

 7^ who are disposed to put off the adoption of this 

 conclusion until we go mad. The bird builds her 

 nest, weaving it of the rarest fibres. She hides it 

 in the copse or prudently hangs it far out on some 

 inaccessible bough. She lays her beautiful eggs, 

 and hatches them with the warmth and life of her 

 own breast. She tends her young, bringing them 

 food and drink, and watching over them with a 

 tender and tireless vigilance. She protects them 

 in storm with her own little body, worries about 

 them when danger lurks, and dreams of them, no 

 doubt, as she rocks and sleeps under the silent 

 stars. She sings to them in the overflow of her 

 gladness and hope, and risks her very existence to 

 shield them from harm. She teaches them to fly, 

 to find their food, and to detect their enemies. 

 She is true to her mate, and her mate is true and 

 kind to her. As the days of summer shorten, and 

 the cool, long nights warn of approaching autumn, 

 she leads her children away from the old place, 



