Sept., 1919 A RETURN TO THE DAKOTA LAKE REGION 193 
recognizing the pleasantly familiar forms of the house, barn, and windmill of 
the farm on North Sweetwater where I had spent the early summer. Farther 
down the shore, near where I had left them, I found my family of three, Little 
Talkative babbling on as before close beside his mother, while she answered 
with a single motherly kruk’ often enough to seem interested in his talk. The 
little fellow, after again pulling at the tempting white feather, lay down full 
length on the water putting his foot out so that the lobes showed, as the West- 
ern Grebe had done, and made me laugh by shaking it behind him as a dog 
wags his tail. It seemed to be a favorite pastime. When the young were swim- 
ming through the clear water, I could see their lobate paddles steering, turning 
them to right or left. 
Just before I went home, the second adult, whom I had taken for the fath- 
er, Came up in sight with green lake weed dangling from his bill. Catching 
sight of him, the young started eagerly and swam toward him, but before they 
eould get to him, he dived and swam out of their reach under water. As there 
was nothing else to do; they turned around and swam back to their faithful 
mother. This unnatural action on the part of the supposed father troubled me 
sorely till I reflected that perhaps two such large conspicuous birds feeding a 
brood might sometimes be a menace, and concluded that many of the appar- 
ently unnatural and immoral acts of Cowbirds and their brothers may find 
their explanation in the working out of the long evolutionary story. 
Another day two of the young were talking to Mother Holbell at the same 
time, their open bills showing as they followed her around. They were so well 
fed that their crops bulged, making ruddy apples of them. A good recogni- 
tion mark these rufous apples made across the water, having the same outline 
as the white apples of the Western and the young Eared Grebes, but being 
strikingly rufous. When a young Holbell was seen near by, its neck was laid 
on its back, its bill being one side of the rotund ruddy apple. 
When the plump trio were idly resting on the water, their mother suddenly 
swam at one of the larger ones and, as with malice aforethought, gave it a 
poke with her bill. However her son interpreted this forcible exhortation, he 
at once began to preen himself, diligently. Then she swam at another of the 
strong ones, chasing him till he dived, after which she rose and shook her wings 
triumphantly. Little stuffed apples! It was time they should dive for them- 
selves, not just sit around and be fed all day long. As if to enforce her lesson 
on independence, Mother Holbeell suddenly started and raced away through 
the water, leaving the three to take care of themselves. Perhaps there was an- 
other side to the question. Possibly the incessant chattering of youngsters gets 
on the nerves of even such faithful mothers as Grebes! While I was trying to 
apologize for her surprising behavior—back she swam to her brood! 
The next morning my family were found as usual on the smooth water of 
the cool shaded shore. In my eagerness to see them, I may have pressed too 
close to my green screen or may have snapped a twig. In any case the mother 
evidently saw me, for she gave her cluck of warning and they swam farther out 
from shore, one of the youngsters kicking up the water behind him in paddling 
around. The mother and Little Talkative stayed together and preened while 
the two larger brothers apparently were out fending for themselves—one was 
seen diving. The discipline of the previous day was surely bearing fruit! For 
about a week longer Mother Holbeell and Little Talkative were seen together, 
the Disciplined Brothers occasionally being seen in their environs. 
(To be continued) 
