THE LONE FISHER 



IN" a hole in a bank beside a lonely road the little king- 

 fishers first saw the light — if blind creatures, born in 

 a pocket in the earth, could be said to see light. At 

 any rate, that was where they cast off their shelly coverings 

 — six helpless, homely kingfisher infants. 



Their house was a simple one, merely a narrow passage- 

 way with a slight upward slant leading back into the bank 

 for a distance of four or five feet, terminating in a single 

 vaulted chamber, six or seven inches high and less than a foot 

 across. A modest dwelling, surely, yet snug and comfor- 

 table. 



The elder pair had selected the spot, an ideal one from 

 a kingfisher's point of view, shortly after their return from 

 the South in the spring. Its seclusion would render it se- 

 cure against the depredations of boys, while the steepness of 

 the bank would make it impervious to the incursions of 

 hawks, owls, snakes, weasels and other callers whose visits 

 would be likely to result in casualties. 



Keenly alive to the advantages of safety, they would 

 have chosen this spot for, these reasons alone, though they 

 realized it had other attractions as well. 



A few feet from the foot of the bank was a pond, or 

 bayou, partly grown up with rushes and purple flags, fur- 

 nishing an abiding place for the many forms of animal life 

 which these pioneers knew full well how to appreciate. And 



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