THE SEA SWALLOW 17 
tinuous stream of movement, two separate cur- 
rents flowing, the “clk, clk, clk” of the busy 
birds continuing hour after hour. Few bird calls 
can be translated with any exactitude or accuracy, 
but the call of the flying Tern, I think, does 
closely resemble the “clk, clk”’’ given in en- 
couragement to a lazy horse. When approached 
too suddenly the whole vast congregation will 
rise, the “‘clk, clk, clk’? momentarily ceasing 
altogether in sudden consternation, then the sudden 
silence changing immediately into a loud universal 
chorus of disapprobation, “kek, kek, kek.” On 
such occasions only a very few of the most stead- 
fast—among the faithless, faithful only they to 
their eggs—continue to sit. These panics are, : 
however, easily allayed. Almost as fast as they 
have arisen the reassured birds will again cuddle 
into their sand-pits. Male and female, I believe, 
sit alternately. It is the latter who sits the more 
assiduously, and who takes an especial care of 
the eggs just before chipping. During this critical 
time she is fed by her partner with a small shining 
silver-scaled fish. 
Even during the rare intervals of calm weather, 
when not a grain of sand stirs, the first care of 
a Tern reoccupying its nest is the ejection of 
imaginary grit. On these occasions the bird will 
also breast the sand forward, gently pressing it 
out. Often, too, after settling on the egg a bird 
B 
