Plovers 



scheme. Indeed, they blend so well with their surroundings as to 

 be all but invisible. Usually the under parts of birds are light col- 

 ored to help make them inconspicuous on the wing; but the black 

 markings on this and the preceding plovers are notable excep- 

 tions. High above the corn and buckwheat, the stubble, the 

 burned and ploughed fields of the interior, or the level stretches 

 of grass far back of the beaches, the sandy dunes, and flats bared 

 at low tide along the coast, come the plovers in crescent-shaped 

 flocks, now massed, now scattered, now rising, now dipping, the 

 wings tremulous with speed, and swinging round in a circle at 

 sight of a feeding ground to their liking. With soft, trilled 

 mellow whistles rippling from their throats, the birds drift down- 

 ward on set, decurved wings, and skim low before alighting. 

 For an instant, as their dangling legs touch the ground, they raise 

 their wings high above their backs until they meet, then slowly fold 

 them against their sides. Now they scatter, and running nimbly 

 and gracefully hither and thither, check themselves suddenly 

 from time to time, raise their heads and look about to reconnoitre. 

 Every motion is quick; they strike at a particle of food as if 

 about to take a dive loon fashion, then run lightly on again, soon 

 returning to the same spot if driven off. A hasty run must be 

 taken, even when frightened, before the plovers spring into the 

 air. A flock has a curious way of standing stock still at an 

 alarming noise, before starting to run. When they squat and 

 hide behind tufts of beach grass, it takes sharp eyes to detect 

 birds from sand. 



But even without apparent alarm, the scattered birds often rise 

 as if summoned by some invisible and inaudible captain, and 

 fly close along the ground, wheeling and dashing and skimming 

 in beautiful and intricate evolutions. Such a flock offers all too 

 easy a side shot. In "the good old days" of carnage that are 

 responsible for the scarcity of this fine game bird to-day, it often 

 rained plover when the gunners were abroad. This latter phrase 

 suggests the query : What connection of ideas is there between 

 pluvia (rain) and plover derived from that word? An early 

 French writer, Belon (1555), speaking of the European species, of 

 course, says "Pour ce qu'on le prend mieux en temps plurieux 

 qu'en nulle autre saison;" but with us the birds are, if any- 

 thing, wilder and less approachable in rainy weather than when 

 it is fine. Is it that their backs look as if they had been sprinkled 



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