170 BIRDS 



You cannot mistake this big, chunky bird, fully a foot 

 long, with grayish-blue upper parts, the long, strong wings, 

 and short, square tail dotted in broken bars of white, and 

 with a heavy bluish band across his white breast. His 

 mate and children wear rusty bands instead of blue. The 

 crested feathers on top of his big, powerful head reach 

 backward to the nape like an Indian chief's feather war- 

 bonnet, and give him distinction. Under his thick, oily 

 plumage, as waterproof as a duck's, he wears a suit of down 

 underclothing. 



No doubt you have heard that all birds are descended 

 from reptile ancestors ; that feathers are but modified scales, 

 and that a bird's song is but the glorified hiss of the ser- 

 pent. Then the kingfisher and the bank swallow retain 

 at least one ancient custom of their ancestors,, for they 

 still place their eggs in the ground. The lone fisherman 

 chooses a mate early in the spring and, with her help, he 

 tunnels a hole in a bank next a good fishing ground. A 

 minnow pool furnishes the most approved baby food. 

 Perhaps the mates will work two or three weeks before 

 they have tunnelled far enough to suit them and made 

 a spacious nursery at the end of the long hall. Usually 

 from five to eight white eggs are laid about six feet from 

 the entrance on a bundle of grass, or perhaps on a heap of 

 ejected fish bones and refuse. While his queen broods, 

 the devoted kingfisher brings her the best of his catch. 

 At first their young are as bare and skinny as cuckoos. 

 When the father or mother bird flies up-stream with a fish 

 for them, giving a rattling call instead of ringing a dinner 

 bell, aU the hungry youngsters rush forward to the mouth 

 of the tunnel; but only one can be satisfied each trip. 

 Then all run backward through the inclined tunnel, like 



