The Killdeer 
female does not fail to try every ruse in the endeavor to lure you away 
from the dangerous spot. First she rolls and flounders away across the 
ground, screaming with agony, as though she had been stepped on. But 
if you are simple enough to follow, the bird gradually recovers, and is soon 
able to patter along ahead of you with tolerable celerity. The male, too, 
is no indifferent spectator. He comes as near as he dares, and shrieks, 
“Dear, dear, dear, dear, dear," until the wonder is that he does not burst a 
blood vessel or split his vocal cords. Interested neighbors add their 
frenzy to the din, until pn desperation you are almost ready to believe 
yourself the frightful villain they are all accusing you of being. If you are 
willing to quit the place, a bevy of fathers will pilot you out of bounds. 
One will patter ahead of you with breast pushed forward and legs in¬ 
credibly nimble, only to pull up presently with a jerk and a compensatory 
bob to ask if you are following. The others describe a great half-circle 
about you with graceful wing but unceasing stridor, and take their places 
in the van. The birds believe themselves extremely clever as they lead 
you off by alternate flights and sprints, and you may hear them indulge 
from time to time in a low rapid titter, teeeee-t , which you may be sure is 
quite at your expense. All this racket is bad enough at best, and one 
may be really sorry to have intruded, at first, but when the whole opera¬ 
tion is gone through with again the next time you happen that way, and 
when you know that the young are long since flying, all this fuss and 
outcry is distinctly annoying. One feels as if the Killdeer had contracted 
the habit of yellow-journalism and couldn’t let go. 
