Mar., 1918 A RETURN TO THE DAKOTA LAKE REGION 67 



one day's experience the Phalaropes showed much less anxiety and did so little 

 calling that I was actually afraid they would lose interest in me and fail to ap- 

 pear. 



Redwings on fence posts called tchack and whistled and opened wide their 

 bills, emitting a gurgling run. The sight of a striped female carrying food, and 

 glimpses of grown young gave point to the solicitations of the six that flew 

 noisily back and forth over my head, sometimes with feet dangling, when I was 

 in their especial neighborhood. Wading out to the fenced hay island where 

 the Phalarope had stood while I admired him, I opened my camp stool in the 

 shallow water and sat down with the brown-topped grass waving high around 

 me. On three of the four fence posts, Redwings lit, males on two posts, a fe- 

 male on the third. Other males tried to take forcible possession of the post oc- 

 cupied by the female, but she, as if aware of the tendency of the times, flatly 

 refused to relinquish it ! A handsome male with flaming epaulettes flew close 

 over my head trying to get courage to light on the fourth post, in front of me. 

 The Whitewings were evidently afraid to light on the fenced island, much as 

 they wanted to, so I finally gave up waiting for them and moved on to explore 

 other parts of the slough. 



Another time a pair of Shovellers were flushed from this popular resort 

 and a pair of Blue-winged Teal rose from a similar hay island, flying off with 

 a weak wang, wang. Once a pair of Mallards, the duck in the lead, circled twice 

 around me and then flew off, and occasionally a single duck or a pair would 

 fly swiftly low across the slough to disappear in the green of the prairie. 



As nearly as I could make out, the Phalaropes lighted only in the old hay 

 islands, going down awkwardly and with apparent effort as if the air were the 

 only natural place for them. One in descending first dropped its legs and then 

 tipped up its wings, giving the effect of pitching head first. 



Various small Sparrows sang small songs in the slough grass here and 

 there, some Savannahs, some Nelsons, and perhaps others. One Nelson gave its 

 tsang } ger-ee, but in such a subdued voice that I barely recognized it. Another 

 small Sparrow sprang up high in the air and gave a flight song, but with such 

 a faint buzz that I could hardly be sure it was singing. Delightful little will- 

 o'-the-wisps, they added their own charm of life and mystery to the slough. 



As I waded slowly back and forth through the high grass, the Soras were 

 singing ahead of me, and when I stopped and sat down quietly they sang all 

 around me. When I tried to whistle them up one answered so near that it 

 seemed to fairly take the words out of my mouth, and I barely escaped seeing 

 it. But although I did fail to see the mouse-like little Rails in their dense cover, 

 several times during the summer I was fortunate enough to happen along just 

 as one was walking jauntily along a ditch or slough by the roadside — once 

 when a small furry animal, doubtless a meadow mouse swimming to shore, at- 

 tracted my eye. Again, a little fellow was wading up to his body, with wings 

 tight at his sides, as neatly and prettily as could be ; and another time one de- 

 liberately walked across the road only fifteen or twenty feet ahead of the au- 

 tomobile. 



The call of the Sora, though only a single kee or a double ker-ivee roused 

 my attention by its brightness and animation as well as its association with the 

 more elaborate song. Tripping down the scale in a rapid chromatic We-he-ee- 

 ee-ee-ee-ee — or Kee-ivee-wee-wee-wee-wee-wee, the song rang with exuberant 

 joyousness. When not sung with fervid ecstacy to its close, the scale was 



