The Turnstones 
early August almost before we have had time to miss them. The nuptial 
finery has been laid aside, and although the prevailing blackish of upper- 
parts and breast is still highly diversified by white edgings, there is no 
hoydenish chestnut, and we get the impression of a sober, modest, and 
companionable bird. 
In their local rangings, sand beaches have first choice, and to see 
the pied pipers pattering after the retreating wave, or else submitting 
to its playful buffeting, is indeed a pretty sight. Here also the birds 
scratch, after the manner of chickens, earning thereby the name Chicken 
Plover. Or if they tire of the sand, they patter among the pebbles, 
upsetting industriously those which are likely to harbor hidden sweets 
of bug or worm. Rough, tide-washed rocks come in for second choice; 
and although the birds cannot do any stone-turning here, they take 
toll of the clinging creatures, limpets and holothurians and cirripeds, 
which require a poke and a pry to convince them. They mingle here 
with their cousins, the Black Turnstones; and although I have seen a 
large company of the latter receive a brighter pair with some show of 
haughtiness, there seems to be, for the most part, a pleasant understanding 
between them. 
134 ° 
