WE WALK ACROSS 103 
But again I had my doubts. Indeed, the bird was 
changing very strangely. And then I saw plainly enough 
that it was not a bird at all, but an Arctic hare sitting up 
as hares will sit. I was much excited about this. It was 
the first hare I had seen. 
Icreptup. The hare sat on,—still a hare, but dwindling. 
To cut a long story short—when I came within shooting 
distance it was to find neither lake nor swan, neither 
willow-grouse nor hare, but a little cock snow-bunting 
perched upon a mound against a drift of snow. 
Further on on the top of a wind-swept shoulder of the 
hill I took four eggs from a grey plover’s nest. The 
nest was a deep circular depression containing, with the 
exception of a little lichen, nothing but the eggs. The 
hen bird I shot, but the male was impossible to secure, 
he was so wild and wary. After waiting about a long 
time for him I had to give it up. 
As this bird flew off it was met by one of a pair of 
Arctic skuas who were hunting the ground for eggs. 
The skua made a cut at it. But the grey plover, rising 
high in the air came down on the unlucky skua like a 
bolt, and followed him up, wheeling and buffeting in fine 
style. 
We reached our mountain to find it was about 150 
feet high. 
It consisted of three conical hills, rising very suddenly, 
and grouped in the shape of a triangle. The base of 
this was open, but the hills were tied together on two 
