The Whip-poor-will 



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My companion quickly descended the rock toward the eggs, set up his 5 x 7 

 cr mera on a tripod, took a picture of the eggs — I cannot say nest, then draped 

 the camera with sassafras leaves, set it, and came away, carrying with him the 

 bulb, attached to tubing 25 feet long. Then we crouched behind the stair- 

 case and awaited proceedings. 



Would the Whip-poor-will venture down from her perch, we wondered, with 

 that fierce machine staring at her, 26 inches from her brooding-place? 



WHIP-POOR-WILL BROODING 



Though we tried to conceal ourselves behind the rock, her eye was upon us, 

 and though she did not fly to safer distance, neither did she budge an inch 

 from her location. 



We dropped the bulb where we were so insufificiently concealing (?) our- 

 selves, and strolled to the ledge where we had lingered the previous evening. 

 Immediately we were settled, in recumbent and apparently unconcerned posi- 

 tions, the Whip-poor-will flew back to her nest. 



Fully twenty minutes after her interruption, my companion stealthily 

 stole up the 'back stairs' again, bulb in hand, and peering, with glasses, over 

 the edge, spotted her and snapped. Once, twice, the cUck resounded— I could 



