The Leach Petrels 



jams its head into the recesses of the fingers, thinking only of cover. 

 Placed upon the ground, it pokes about the grass in a fidgety, near-sighted 

 way, looking for a hole, and does not scruple to enter the hole of a neighbor 

 rather than remain under surveillance. Once one flew from the hand and 

 made off to sea with a bewildered, hesitant motion, a jerkiness somewhat 

 similar to that of a nighthawk at close quarters. Others I threw into the 

 air, and they too made off to sea sheepishly, like waifs caught sleeping on 

 a park bench and told to move on. 



In no instance did the mother betray any interest in her young, or 

 realize that it, too, was in the same plight. Now and then birds bit us, but 

 their bills were not strong enough to inflict injury. When molested, 

 Petrels eject an ill-smelling oil, which either proceeds from or involves the 

 nostrils in its discharge. This in turn is followed speedily by the contents 

 of the crop, if such are available; but whether this offering is intended for 

 a ransom or is only the result of fright, one cannot certainly tell. 



We had been working in the turf plot looking only for fresh eggs and 

 taking pains to replace the chicks — tiny balls of slate-colored down with 

 feet of a deathly pallor and bills jet black; stupid, also, as balls of mud — 

 wherever found. But after having waded through the heavily grassed 



Taken in Washington Photo byjhe Author 



NEST AND EGG OF BEAL PETREL 



20IJ 



