THE KINGFISHER'S NEST. 



Who is it that does not admire a pretty 

 collection of bird's eggs ? I am decidedly 

 against collecting them for mercantile 

 purposes; but think that a collection of 

 one or two sets of each kind is an in- 

 despensable aid to the proper study of 

 birds and their habits. 



It was in the spring of 1899, while on 

 one of my collecting outings, that I hap- 

 pened to take a short path down a rail- 

 road track towards a patch of woods that 

 had been on my visiting list for some 

 time. As I was passing through a deep 

 cut the banks of which were about thirty 

 feet high and very steep, I noticed a 

 small round hole near the top of the left 

 hand bank, and while looking at it a 

 Kingfisher came out and flew off towards 

 the river, about two miles distant. 



No collector ever overlooks the oppor- 

 tunity to make a desirable addition to his 

 collection ; so I determined to secure that 

 nest if possible. But how to get it was 

 the question, for the nest was only two 

 or three feet from the top, the bank was 

 too steep to climb and should I have 

 gone around to the top I could not have 

 found the nest. I was also four miles 

 from town, therefore could get no tools 

 to assist in climbing the bank, but I was 

 determined to get that nest, so I went to 

 work, having as my tool a "barlow" 

 pocket knife. 



I began by cutting steps in the bank 

 for a foothold. It was then a quarter past 

 one o'clock in the afternoon. By stead- 

 ily cutting and mounting one step at a 

 time, about four o'clock my face was even 

 with the hole. My knife was worn 

 bright, so using it as a reflector, I threw 

 the sunlight into the hole and saw the 

 other bird sitting apparently on the bare 

 ground about three feet back, blinking 

 at the light. Another half hour's digging 

 made the hole large enough to admit my 

 arm, but I still could not reach the nest; 

 so I climbed down and securing a piece 

 of cornstalk, went back up to the nest. 

 I poked at the bird for quite a while, but 



she would not move. Finally she became 

 angry and grabbed the stalk in her bill, 

 thus enabling me to pull her out. 



"Success is the reward of persever- 

 ance," and you can imagine how glad I 

 was when I again threw the light in the 

 hole and beheld seven snow white eggs 

 lying there. 



I presume some of my readers have 

 never seen a Kingfisher's nest, so for 

 their benefit I will give a short descrip- 

 tion of one. It selects a bank of soft 

 clay, sometimes several miles from a 

 stream, and about one to four feet from 

 the top it digs a hole three or four inches 

 in diameter, inclining slightly upward 

 and running back two or three feet. At 

 the back of this passage is a cavern, or 

 the nest proper, which is about the size 

 and shape of a small inverted wash basin. 

 Very often it makes a turn in the pas- 

 sage before hollowing out for the nest. 

 The eggs, from four to seven in number 

 and pure ivory white, are laid on the bare 

 ground in a slight depression in the cen- 

 ter of the nest. The Kingfishers are very 

 dirty housekeepers for they leave all the 

 refuse fish bones, scales, etc., from then- 

 food, lying in the nest. Well, to get back 

 to my story. 



The most severe part of my undertak- 

 ing was yet to come. Standing there on 

 a six-inch niche in a crumbly clay bank, 

 twenty-five feet from the ground, I 

 slowly rolled the eggs with the cornstalk 

 to the edge of the hole and placed them 

 in my collection box. But at last I had 

 them all in and was once more on the 

 ground and headed for home. 



The clock was striking seven when I 

 stepped in the door, tired out and hun- 

 gry, but fully repaid for my afternoon's 

 hard labor, for I had a set of Kingfisher 

 eggs, the pride of my collection. The 

 true naturalist and collector places no 

 commercial value on his collection, but 

 rates them according to the rarity of the 

 article and the energy put forth in se- 

 curing it. 



Louis P. Zimmerman. 



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