42 



sionally seen, might possibly have been last year's birds and not breeding ; but more probably it 

 consisted entirely of males, which, so far as we had an opportunity of observing, do not take any 

 part in incubation. The ground where the nests were placed was full of tussocks or hummocks, 

 close together, the swampy ground between being almost hidden, or traceable only by rows of 

 cotton-grass. The tussocks are covered with green moss, with now and then a little reindeer- 

 moss; but this undergrowth is almost hidden with cloudberry, a few species of Juncus, and 

 sundry Carices, with occasionally a few dwarf shrubs and flowers of the tundra. The nests were 

 within a hundred yards of the place where I shot the five Little Stints on the 14th July, on a 

 comparatively dry extent of tundra, gently sloping towards the north-east, lying between the 

 lagoon and the inland sea — exactly the place that one would expect them to breed in, not too 

 swampy, but probably the coolest place the birds could have chosen. The Pytkoff Mountains, 

 though at a considerably greater elevation (513 feet above the level of the sea), are, no doubt, 

 warmer, because more inland. The sandy shore, having little or no cover, would also be hotter 

 from the sun. Facing the north-east, this part of the tundra catches the most of the prevailing 

 winds at this season of the year, and the least sun ; and no doubt the large bay or inland sea on 

 one side, and the open water on the other, help to cool the air. The choice of a breeding-place 

 bears only a secondary relation to latitude, longitude, or elevation. It is inaccurate to state that 

 at the westerly or southerly limit of their distribution birds breed at the greatest elevation. 

 This may or may not be the case, according to circumstances. The whole question is doubtless 

 one of temperature ; and the true statement of the case must be, that at the warmest limit of 

 their distribution birds choose the coolest locality in which to breed — a statement which almost 

 amounts to a platitude, but one, nevertheless, that cannot be too constantly remembered by field- 

 naturalists in search of undiscovered breeding-grounds. 



" Our next nest was taken on the 24th of July. Harvie-Brown and I had been up all night, 



shooting by the light of the midnight sun, hoping to avoid the mosquitoes, and were returning 



home to our wrecked ship in a thick white morning mist. I stopped behind to refresh myself 



with a bathe, and afterwards turned towards the Little-Stint ground. Just as I reached it I was 



glad to see Piottuch emerge from the white mist, with the intelligence that he had found another 



nest of the Little Stint, containing four eggs, about three versts off, and had shot the bird, 



leaving the nest and eggs for us to take. We walked on together a short distance, when I 



heard the now familiar cry of a Little Stint behind me, a sharp wick, almost exactly the same as 



the cry of the Ped-necked Phalarope or that of the Sanderling. Turning quickly round I saw 



the bird flying past as if coming up from its feeding-grounds. It wheeled round us at some 



distance and alighted on the ground about eighty yards ahead. We walked slowly up towards 



it, and stood for some time watching it busily employed in preening its feathers. By-and-by we 



sat down. It presently began to run towards us, stopping now and then to preen a feather or 



two. Then it turned back a few paces, and lifting its wings settled down, evidently on its nest. 



We gave it three minutes' grace, to be quite sure, and then quietly walked up to the place, and 



sat down, one on each side of the eggs. The bird as quietly slipped off the nest, and began to 



walk about all round us, now and then pecking on the ground as if feeding, seldom going more 



than six feet from us, and often approaching within eighteen inches. It was a most interesting 



and beautiful sight. The tameness of the bird was almost ludicrous. We chatted and talked ; 



