A Heath Hen Quest 247 



sand of the cornfield, was left his wallowing hole, deep, round, and as large as 

 a basin. 



Later, in clear spaces amid the oak growth, we found bare cavities which 

 we thought might also be wallowing holes. 



It was hot, strenuous work, invading the scrub-oak, although I must say 

 it was really easier than it had looked at first sight. To glance across acre after 

 acre of such a growth, on what is called the greatest extent of level country in 

 Massachusetts, and to think of covering the same, with the thermometer above 

 80°, and under a sun which seemed to have migrated with the birds from Florida, 

 is no alluring prospect, even when buoyed up by the recent discovery of an almost 

 extinct Heath Hen. 



Why it was easier lay in the fact that these clear spots existed. One could 

 not see them from the road. Instead, the oaks seemed to touch and interlace 

 in the most intricate manner, protecting their wary habitants from intrusion. 



After braving this formidable breastwork, however, and battling awhile with 

 tough boughs and snapping twigs, the dehght of these oases can be imagined. 

 Blueberries grew and shrivelled here for lack of rain; but Tympanuchus, no doubt, 

 likes them that way, for he is said to be as averse to moisture as a turkey, and his 

 usual diet of small acorns, buds and occasional leaves, must make dried berries 

 seem quite luscious by comparison. 



The existing drought had caused the blueberry leaves near the ground to 

 assume a fiery red, relieved here and there by dainty white asters — the most 

 soothing thing in nature we encountered, — although some belated goat's-rue 

 caused us to cry out in admiration of the pastel-coloring of its ripened bloom, 

 so much more artistic than when first opened. Sun-heated sweet fern filled our 

 nostrils, wafted hither by a redeeming " sou'-wester. " 



The sight of the first Heath Hen we had considered a stroke of good luck; 

 but when a pair of them were "flushed" in the scrub at our right and shot up- 

 ward, partridge-like, we blessed Dame Fortune, instead. One of them passed 

 directly above our heads, showing the dark reddish brown bars on a breast of 

 white, and in watching its strong flight we lost sight of its mate. Whether it 

 flew as swiftly in an opposite direction or sank again was merely a matter for 

 conjecture. But we may have "flushed" it again, for soon after, the same, or 

 a fourth Heath Hen, whirred and flew aloft as the others had done. 



Four Heath Hens in half as many hours! To be sure, our cameras had been 

 too slow; but it was long past nesting-time, when one might hope to catch a family 

 and attendant parent bird. 



In spite of the rapidity with which they flew, we had good views of the birds, 

 whose long routes in flying kept them for some time within the vision of our 

 glasses. 



On our return, sunburnt but jubilant, we met the warden, a sturdy-looking, 

 determined young man, who listened to our tale of victory, and said we had done 

 well at this season of the year. 



