8 
GAUKRODGER, The Way of an Baijlc. [ jJT 
It is my practice when ‘‘Sanderson’’ has had a night out to 
check the focussing before attempting an exposure. On this 
occasion my attendant turned his old almanac round, whereupon 
from under the cloth 1 saw, in sharp relief, “ist OCTOBER, ALL 
SAINTS’ DAY.” Here, surely, was encouragement, even 
though I wondered, penitently, how I could he on the list after my 
mixed remarks of the previous day! 
With a fresh bag of water and renewed determination, I 
crawled into my hiding “Stump” a few minutes after 8 o’clock. 
This day was cloudless, with no wind blowing, but considerable 
smoke hung in the atmosphere from distant bush-fires. The hum 
of my assistant’s motor car had scarcely died away in the distance 
when the chicken above became very restless. It set up an 
incessant whistling, sometimes with lowered head, and then stand¬ 
ing erect with wings straight above, but always with its eyes in 
one direction. 1 expected every minute to see a huge bird, with' 
wide wing-span, alight on a branch near the nest almost with a 
thud. Instead, I heard not the slightest wing-movement or, other 
sound, but saw the head of the old bird peering round an upright 
limb that hid its.body from me, and'then quickly slip off the limb 
and fly away. To this day I blame the eye of the camera for tiie 
fright that bird got. 
This mess-up was very discouraging, and I concluded it was 
hopeless waiting any longer on that day. Reasoning the position 
out, I resolved it was better to make for home, and in the evening 
I could tell by the chicken’s larder whether the parent had re-' 
turned or not. 
I was now afraid of two things. Firstly, there was the. danger 
that my intrusions would mean starvation to the chicken; 
secondly, that the old bird would return and feed the nestling in 
the very early morning, when the light was too poor for a fast 
exposure. So 1 decided on a bold move—one upon which 1 
would either win or lose. Just at dark, then, I went to the nest 
and found that the old bird had not been back—a fact which 
made me thank my luck that I had not put in the second’, full 
day waiting for the parent. The youngster was ravenously 
hungry, and I felt guilty and responsible for it. However, we 
had to see it through. Following out the new plan, my assistant 
lowered the young bird, from tbe nest in a netted cage, the idea 
being to take tbe babe home for the night, feed it on sheep’s 
kidneys and liver, and return it to the nest in the morning at 
nine o’clock. The parents, T figured, would miss him, and would 
hang about and visit him on his return at a time when the light 
was most favourable to photography. This move was successful 
to a degree. 
The following day opened cloudless, with neither wind nor 
smoky atmosphere; therefore, the light was very strong and .fav¬ 
ourable. . At nine o’clock we returned the chicken to the nest, 
and I retired again to my hiding-stump. Everything around was 
extremely quiet. Purposely I had not overfed the youngster, and 
