Nov., 1919 A RETURN TO THE DAKOTA LAKE REGION 227 
circled her, making a lovely intimate family picture. At some bit of careless- 
ness on my part on the bank above, however, the mother gave a warning note 
and the brood swam farther out from shore. 
On the morning of August 10, when a cold northwest wind had driven all 
but a few Coots and Ruddies from the south side of the lake, and the water was 
rough, and foam lay piled along the shore, to my surprise I discovered the 
pretty Pintail and her downy brood. Not far out, to be sure, but riding the small 
rollers with such evident satisfaction one imagined them quite capable of ocean 
voyages! As they rocked over the waves they preened themselves nonchalant- 
ly, if the spray broke over them, shaking their little heads casually. Their 
mother, a good sailor too, preened as she rode, her head back over her shoul- 
ders, letting the waves roll her as they would. The downy ducklings dived 
prettily and on coming up gave a little jump and a shake of the head. But— 
what liad become of the eleventh? There were only ten, now. Had the family 
slept too near to shore? There was a strong mephitic odor along the bank. 
In this same place, when revisiting the lake with our littie school boy on 
September 2, the child, pointing to a group on the water asked eagerly, ‘‘ What 
are those?’’ adding, ‘‘They’re babies of some kind,’’ and so they were, four 
tiny dark ducklings, feeding on surface water weeds. A Pied-billed Grebe, two 
iemale Blue-winged Teal, and a female Ruddy were swimming near them, but 
no one claimed the little tots and I was at a loss to know whether they belonged 
to the Teal or the Ruddy. Finally, however, after letting the Teal and the 
Pied-bill swim around close to the little ones for some time, the Ruddy came 
swimming over all bristled up and chased off a Pied-bill with such an air of 
exclusive ownership that Solomon himself would have felt quite satisfied. The 
little school boy watched the proceeding with great interest. When he saw the 
wondrous blue bill of the Ruddy drake that he had been anxiously looking for, 
he exclaimed, ‘‘Oh, isn’t that pretty—that blwe bill—Say, but that is pretty!”’ 
and when we started home he ejaculated fervently, ‘‘I’m glad I came’’—a re- 
mark deeply appreciated, as agriculture in the fascinating form of a threshing 
outfit to watch had threatened to outrival ornithology. 
As we walked back through the woods, a northern visitor, a Red-bellied 
Nuthatch, crossed our path with its autumnal message. That was not the first 
pleasant surprise I had had in these woods. Two weeks before—on August 17 
—a family of three-quarter grown Long-eared Owls had burst out of a tree be- 
fore my very eyes, one of them lighting not far away, sitting up parallel to the 
tree trunk which it closely resembled. Its ears were still short and as it low- 
ered its head, its eyes inside its facial disk had a strained anxious look. Re- 
treating to another perch, it turned its head around over its back to look at me. 
Although the middle of the day, its ears were alertly sensitive, for at the sound 
of Crows or a flock of Ducks passing over, it looked up. 
From its perch in the sun it again flew toa branch in the shade, and 
leaned over twisting its head around trying to see me better. But soon its eyes 
stared wide as if it had to try hard to keep awake, and presently its lids 
drooped. When I walked up closer, however, it drew itself up very tall and 
thin, with ears erect like the pictures of protective attitudes, one wing curi- 
ously drawn half way across its breast helping to narrow its body and make it 
look more like the tree trunk. When nothing happened, it relaxed, let itself 
down shorter, and let go the branch with one furry foot, standing on the other 
foot ready for a nap. 
