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 Mar., 1918 A RETURN TO THE DAKOTA LAKE REGION 67 one day's experience the Phalaropes showed much less anxiety and did so little calling that I was actually afraid they would lose interest in me and fail to ap- pear. Redwings on fence posts called tchack and whistled and opened wide their bills, emitting a gurgling run. The sight of a striped female .carrying food, and glimpses of grown young gave point to the solicitations of the six that flew noisily back and forth over my head, sometimes with feet dangling, when I was in their especial neighborhood. Wading out to the fenced hay island where the Phalarope had stood while ! admired him, I opened my camp stool in the shallow water and sat down with the brown-topped grass waving high around me. On three of the four fence posts, Redwings lit, males on two posts, a fe- male on the third. Other males tried to take forcible possession of the post oc- cupied by the female, but she, as if aware of the tendency of the times, flatly refused to relinquish it! A handsome male with flaming epaulettes flew close over my head trying to get courage to light on the fourth post, in front of me. The Whitewings were evidently afraid to light on the fenced island, much as they wanted to, so I finally gave up waiting for them and moved on to explore other parts of the slough. Another time a pair of Shovellers were flushed from this popular resort and a pair of Blue-winged Teal rose from a similar hay island, flying off with a weak wang, wang. Once a pair of Mallards, the duck in the lead, circled twice around me and then flew off, and occasionally a single duck or a pair would fly swiftly low across the slough to disappear in the green of the prairie. As nearly as I could make out, the Phalaropes lighted only in the old hay islands, going down awkwardly and with apparent effort as if the air were the only natural place for them. One in descending first dropped its legs and then tipped up its wings, giving the effect of pitching head first. Various small Sparrows sang small songs in the slough grass here and there, some Savannahs, some Nelsons, and perhaps others. One Nelson gave its tsang'ger-ee, but in such a subdued voice that I barely recognized it. Another small Sparrow sprang up high in the air and gave a flight song, but with such a faint buzz that I could hardly be sure it was singing. Delightful little will- o'-the-wisps, they added their own charm of life and mystery to the slough. As I waded slowly back and forth through the high grass, the Soras were singing ahead of me, and when I stopped and sat down quietly they sang all around me. When I tried to whistle them up one answered so near that it seemed to fairly take the words out of my mouth, and I barely escaped seeing it. But although I did fail to see the mouse-like little Rails in their dense cover, several times during the summer I was fortunate enough to happen along just as one was walking jauntily along a ditch or slough by the roadside--once when a small furry animal, doubtless a meadow mouse swimming to shore, at- tracted my eye. Again, a little fellow was wading up to his body, with wings tight at his sides, as neatly and prettily as could be; and another time one de- liberately walked across the road only fifteen or twenty feet ahead of the au- tomobile. The call of the Sora, though only a single kee or a double ker-wee roused my attention by its brightness and animation as well as its association with the more elaborate song. Tripping down the scale in a rapid chromatic We-he-e- ee-ee-ee-ee--or I(ee-wee-wee-wee-wee-wee-wee, the song rang with exuberant joyousness. When not sung with fervid ecstacy to its close, the scale was