THE SEA HAWK 185 
of incubation. There were, moreover, but the 
usual two eggs in the nest—the normal number 
laid. Had a couple of hens shared the nest there 
would have been double that number of eggs, or 
at least more than two. If each had not laid her 
full complement of eggs—and I have given reasons 
elsewhere for believing that the extrusion of 
eggs can be controlled in a very wonderful 
fashion—not both of them would have laid a 
single egg.t 
There were airs, too, of particular peculiar 
proprietorship indulged in by the biggest bird. 
She was the boldest on guard. It was she who, 
not content with staving us off the precious 
eggs, would sometimes assume the offensive, fol- 
lowing us with ungainly tramplings into the scrub, 
harassing our retreat with screams, minatory 
gesticulations, and on one well-remembered occa- 
sion seizing the rearmost man by the slack of his 
trousers. After a few days not one of us had 
any doubt but that the trio consisted of one hen 
and two cocks. 
1 I have seen a Pukeko’s nest containing seventeen eggs—a 
co-partnership of four or five or even six hens,—and on several 
occasions have also seen in nests of this species ten and twelve 
eggs, the property of three or four hens, according to age, food 
supply, and other factors. A Grey Duck’s nest found with twenty- 
one eggs in it was certainly also a joint-stock concern. Amongst 
game birds of British coverts the sharing of nests is common 
enough, but as they are semi-domesticated such examples go for 
little. 
