226 UNDER THE OPEN SKY 



afraid of me; but let another kingfisher try 

 to fish in his waters and he drives him out 

 in short order. He allows no trespassing 

 on his domain. Even his wife receives 

 scant courtesy except during the nesting 

 season. Then he makes her a dugout for 

 her home. In this, with a mattress of fish- 

 bones to sleep on, she must be content. 



Commonly he sits on a dead limb that 

 overhangs the water. His dishevelled hair 

 shows how distracting a business fishing is 

 for him. His neck-tie, too, is awry, and his 

 blue-gray coat is flecked with patches of 

 dusty white. From his perch he peers 

 down into the water. If fish are scarce, a 

 frog or a crayfish answers, or even some 

 poor drowning bug that comes floating by. 

 When he sees the glitter of a fin below him, 

 he pounces head foremost into the water 

 and comes out with his prey sticking cross- 

 wise in his bill. Away he flies chattering, 

 to light at his next station, devour his catch, 

 and then watch for another. His voice, as 

 he clatters along, sounds as if fishing during 

 the cold weather had got into his windpipe, 



