NOVEMBER 225 



delights that reach the ear of the nature lov- 

 er, but which may all easily be missed by the 

 casual walker. But as we near the creek 

 a shrill, harsh clatter tells us that one of our 

 feathered friends has not yet gone, and that, 

 while man has taken to the gun, the ancient 

 fisherman is still plying his vocation. 



THE KING OF FISHERMEN 

 A LONE FISHEKMAN 



Fishing is a selfish business. When you 

 have once found a hole in which the fish 

 really bite, you look with small affection on 

 the new-comer who tries to drop his hook 

 into the same pool. The birds are no better 

 than we are in this matter. The kingfisher, 

 for example, has this human fishing trait 

 developed to an amazing degree. There is 

 one of these birds that haunts a few spots 

 on a creek I often visit. When I come too 

 near to one of his stations he leaves it for the 

 next, and as I go up the stream he keeps 

 ahead of me until I have chased him out 

 three or four times. Then he flies around 

 me and begins at the bottom again. He is 



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