﻿With the Whip-poor-wills 



85 



wise of a dead limb near the ground, and to all intent settled herself for 

 the day. Nothing with life could have looked more like a stub on a decayed 

 limb. I watched her closely for a time, and if she was worried by the intru- 

 sion (and I know she did not take kindly to it), she gave no sign. In fact, 

 I believe she even yawned now and then while waiting for me to take my 

 little black box away. 



Minutes passed and still no change. The sun crept into my covert and, 

 at last, tired in eye and nerve, I drew more into the shade and turned my 

 thoughts to other of nature's attractions. 



Lost in my surroundings, I forgot my hostess for the moment. Sud- 

 denly I missed her clucking — she was a veritable old hen, having kept up 

 a constant "chuck-chuck" since being driven from the nest — and I looked 

 at the log where she had sat so like a wooden bird but a few moments ago. 

 She was gone. The nesting site was examined carefully, but eggs and bird 

 had disappeared and nothing remained but dead leaves. Another search, 

 however, gave me her outline. There she was, full side to the lens, cover- 



: PERCHED ON HER FAVORITE LIMB CHUCKING ANGRILY 



ing her eggs with all motherliness. I reached out and squeezed the bulb, 

 the deed was done, but she did not know it. 



It seemed a ruthless act to drive her from her nest a second time, but 

 my plate-holder must be turned, and so I stole softly up to the camera. 



