114 BIRD PARADISE 



ing high in the air — uttering frequently their loud 

 clear call. Perhaps the most interesting of all 

 our water birds is the little sandpiper. From his 

 frequent use of the word tip-up, we have given him 

 that as his local name. In two or three places in 

 the swamp there are sandy places where the 

 tip-ups enjoy what I should term their many 

 games. They are expert in these games, I am 

 sure, and frequently an encore of mine closes a 

 contest that looks like a great neighborhood 

 gathering. 



I noticed that the robins engaged in nest build- 

 ing about as soon as they arrived in their North- 

 ern home. Mud, one of the principal materials 

 for the nest, they find now in abundance. Dried 

 grass also abounds, but perhaps the chief reason 

 for the unusual haste lies in the fact that the sea- 

 son is a little late. Then, too, they really have 

 nothing else to do. So far as I can see they have, 

 on their arrival, settled all the preliminaries of 

 housekeeping, and of course the house after that 

 is the first thing needed. I have no particular 

 admiration for the robin as a house builder. I 

 suppose he does the best he knows, and that is as 

 high as the imperfect ever reaches. Just now I 



