BIRD PARADISE 113 



Our water birds seem to be all here. How 

 quietly the creatures come and go in their migra- 

 tions. Someway I think this class of birds move 

 in their accustomed places with the least appear- 

 ance of display of all our feathered friends. 

 About all I know of their leaving us is that they 

 are gone, and when they return in the spring to 

 their Northern haunts when I first see them they 

 are fully domiciled, no signs perceptible of their 

 ever having been away. Down at the swamp side 

 I hear the whistle of the woodcock, the sharper 

 notes of the snipes, the loud call of the killdeer, 

 and the softer strains of the little tip-up. I inter- 

 view them and each has his own story to tell and 

 he tells it well. Mr. Woodcock, the largest bird 

 of the family, I usually see on the wing, though 

 frequently I find him busy in a marshy place, 

 securing his daily bread. He has a scheme of 

 thrusting his long bill down into the soft mold 

 and by the sense of touch uncovering his food. 

 He must secure a large supply, for he always has 

 the appearance of a well-kept bird. The snipe 

 has many of the woodcock's habits and is a good 

 second to many of his ways. The killdeer comes 

 out into the open fields, and is quite a master of 

 rapid flight. I saw a small flock this week pass- 



