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Bird - Lore 



shells. Very carefully I made my way to the spot which the old bird had just left, and 

 minutely examined the leaves for the young, but without success. The mother was a 

 short distance away with half-spread wings. She slowly moved about, uttering soft 

 'chucks' and taking a single step at each sound. As she seemed so worried, I thought 

 her babies must be in the neighborhood, so I went to the ledge and sat down behind a 



YOUNG WHIP-POOR-WILLS 



stone, to see if she would call them. In a few minutes she alighted on the former nesting- 

 place and uttered a few gentle, almost inaudible 'coos,' like a Dove, only very much 

 softer. Then, only two feet away from the old bird, I saw two fluffy yellow-gray chicks 

 come hopping and running over the leaves to their mother. They nestled down out of 

 sight under their mother's breast, and the old bird closed her eyes in contented sleep. 

 Some time later I stood up, and at the first movement the mother slightly opened her 

 eyes. As I approached, she did not move until I could almost touch her, and when 

 she did fly she gave a warning 'chuck,' and both birdlets ran a few steps and squatted 

 on the leaves. If I had not seen them as they ran and stopped, I should never have been 

 a,ble to find them, for they looked exactly like the dried leaves on which they sat. Both 

 were covered with yellow down, tipped with gray or white, and their immense mouths 

 were hidden in downy feathers, only the tips of their bills protruding from the sof 

 sheath. One of them kept his eyes fast closed, while the other watched me between his 

 half-opened lids. Moving one nearer the other, I placed it so as to get a side view (the 

 other had its back to the camera) and took their pictures. 



The next week, as it was dark and threatening rain, I did not take my camera with 

 me when I visited the Whip-poor-wills. The mother bird was not in her old place, so I 

 walked around in the neighborhood and soon started her up, but again I could not find 

 the young birds. Going back among the rocks, I waited until she had called them 

 together. When I came near, the mother flew and her babies squatted on the leaves. 

 They had grown to twice their former size and were well feathered, being almost ready 

 to fly away. The plumage was light gray, with dark brown spots on the back and along 

 each wing, giving them the appearance of moss-covered stones. While admiring the 

 delicate blending of their somber colors, it seemed to me that I could just see traces of 



