CHAP. XVI IVILD DUCK'S NEST. 145 



The best of these is the mallard : with us, they breed principally 

 about the most lonely lochs and pools in the hills ; sometimes 

 I have seen these birds during the breeding-season very far up 

 among the hills : a few hatch and rear their young about the 

 rough ground and mosses near the sea, but these get fewer and 

 fewer every year, in consequence of the increase of draining and 

 clearing which goes on in all the swamps and wild grounds. 



Some few breed in furze-bushes and quiet corners near the 

 mouth of the river, and may be seen in some rushy pool, accom- 

 panied by a brood of young ones. Though so wild a bird, they 

 sit close, allowing people to pass very near to them without 

 moving. When they leave their nest, the eggs are always care- 

 fully concealed, so that a careless observer would never suppose 

 that the heap of dried leaves and grass that he sees under a 

 bush covers twelve or thirteen duck's eggs. 



Occasionally a wild duck fixes on a most unlikely place to 

 build her nest in ; for instance, in a cleft of a rock, where you 

 would rather expect to find a pigeon or jackdaw building, and 

 I once, when fishing in a quiet brook in England, saw a wild 

 duck fly out of an old pollard oak-tree. My curiosity being 

 excited by seeing the bird in so unusual a place, I examined 

 the tree, and found that she had a nest built of sticks and grass, 

 containing six eggs, placed at the junction of the branches and 

 the main stem. I do not know how she would have managed 

 to get her young ones safely out of it when hatched, for on care- 

 fully measuring the height, I found that the nest was exactly 

 fifteen feet from the ground. 



As soon as hatched, the young ones take to the water, and 

 it is very amusing to see the activity and quickness which the 

 little fellows display in catching insects and flies as they skim 

 along the surface of the water, led on by the parent bird, who 

 takes the greatest care of them, bustling about with all the 'hurry 

 and importance of a barn-yard hen. Presently she gives a low 

 warning quack, as a hawk or carrion crow passes in a suspicious 

 manner over them. One cry is enough, away all the little ones 

 dart into the rushes, screaming and fluttering, while the old bird, 

 with head flat on the water and upturned eye, slowly follows 

 them, but not until she sees them all out of danger. After a 

 short time, if the enemy has disappeared, the old bird peers 

 cautiously from her covert, and if she makes up her mind that 



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