BIRDS' CRIES 221 



was perhaps the most interesting of all to us — a Bewick's 

 swan, shot on the banks of a great lake in company with 

 four others. 



On the morrow the storm continued, and rain fell 

 during the morning ; so we spent the hours inside our 

 wreck, writing up our journals and examming the 

 phalaropes. 



The idle morning seemed a long one. After dinner 

 we smoked a pipe, whiled away the time in chatting, and 

 then retired, as I thought, very early to bed. I woke 

 after some hours and got up, for I had had sleep enough, 

 shouldered my gun, and went out, leaving all the others 

 still deep in their slumbers. It was very windy, and 

 ever and anon came gusts of rain, yet there were more 

 birds than usual out feeding. "It's the early bird that 

 catches the worm," I said to myself 



My first care was to seek out the Little stint ground. 

 I saw several birds upon it, but no trace of a nest could I 

 discover. Then I took a long stroll along the edge of the 

 inland sea and by the banks of the river beyond. As I 

 went along I constantly heard the clear, sharp, but not 

 loud cry of the Little stint and phalarope — wick — but I 

 had not yet learned to distinguish the one from the other, 

 nor could I tell either from the cry of the sanderling. 

 The spluttering note, pt-r-r-r, of the Temminck's stint is 

 very distinct ; so is the dunlin's thick hoarse cry o{ peezh, 

 or its grating call-note — trr — as well as the noisy ^oo- ?'/ of 

 the ringed plover. 



I had been out some hours when I met my com- 

 panion, and hailed him with " Good morning." He 

 answered with " Good evening." We both agreed the 

 hour was seven, but we differed as to its being a.m. or 

 P.M. I was convinced it was the morning of the morrow, 

 whereas Harvie- Brown was persuaded it was yester- 



