Spring on the Kankakee 113 



there must be shooting, it should be put off until the fall 

 when the sport is as keen as the air. 



A dark cloud was moving rapidly over the marsh. Sud- 

 denly its color changed to silver, and then as quickly it went 

 to black again. It was a flock of May plover that had lingered 

 late on this choice feeding-ground. The May plover is also 

 called grass snipe and grass plover; neither of the three is its 

 right name. It is the pectoral sandpiper. The birds go in 

 large flocks, and twelve or fifteen of them are often killed 

 at one discharge of the gun. When the dead and wounded 

 have dropped from the flock, the remnant will often whirl 

 about and fly back over the fallen comrades, only to be 

 met with another deadly discharge. The wonder is that 

 there are any pectoral sandpipers left to add life to the spring 

 marshes. 



We walked back through the woods and across the river 

 bridge to a boat-house. There we hired a comfortable and 

 safe-looking snub-nosed boat for a trip on the broad stream. 

 The woman who rented us the boat said that notwithstand- 

 ing her occupation she had never been on the river in her 

 life, and in it only once. That once she fell in from the bank. 

 She also told us, for she saw that we were bird enthusiasts, 

 that she loved the birds, but knew very little about them. 

 " There is one bird, however," she said, "to whose note I am 

 never tired of listening, though I don't know the singer's 

 name. The song is like the sound of the tinkling of the tri- 

 angle. There, the bird is singing now"; and as she spoke 

 the rich notes of the wood thrush came across the river. I 

 think that those who have once heard the "tinkling" of the 

 little musical instrument called the triangle will admit that the 



