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 May, 1918 A RETURN TO THE'D/][OTA.LAK] REGION 115 tail, jumped up and went bounding off over the prairie flowers. And how bright and pretty the flowers looked !--white, pink, yellow, and blue. Three days later no anxious parents flew over to meet my approach, none appeared to question my presence on the dry knoll; but beyond the slough, be- tween two beantiful oblongs of solid yellow mustard lay a strip of brown earth recently plowed by a traction engine with its gangplow that I had been wa'tching as it moved back and forth on the horizon, and from this direction Plover voices were coming. On crossing the first fragrant mustard field, en- joying its vivid color and sweet odor with its suggestion of the head high mus- tard fields of southern California, I heard small voices down among the stalks that I imagined were those of the young Plover, and a pair of adults flew about, disturbed when getting their evening meal from the dark mellow earth. One of the pair lit on the plowed ground, its long neck bent in like a Her- on's and, stilted up on its long legs, trotted toward me opening wide its bill taking me to task. Flying up it again took a turn around over the mustard, afterwards realighting and walking up within about twenty' feet of me, so close that I could distinguish the fine barring'of its neck and sides. Black Terns went by with their thin ek, ek, a Marsh .Hawk swept over the mustard, a Bobolink sang, and the breeze brought the heliotrope-like fragrance of the beautiful yellow acre. About two weeks later when I went to take a last look for the Plover, they had apparently left the neighborhood, but I had a memorable walk. Making my way slowly through the blooming mustard, I had once again the rare prai- rie experience of encompassing clouds closing in about me; but this time the golden acre was the circle enclosed, a sun-filled peaceful acre reflecting the serenity of the sky. A bubbling note heard on an August night, and a flock of birds that I took to be Upland Plover passing swiftly overhead, closed a chapter that was one of the best in all my summer. Would that these lovely birds, with their rich, musical notes, their trustful ways.and their large gentle eyes might abound in the land to delight the hearts of all true bird lovers! In driving back and forth from the home of the Upland Plover, I saw a number of interesting sights. One day it was a small band of Black Terns hovering over black earth being turned up by a five horse gang plow. On other days four Mourning Doves, almost the first seen, flew from a field; again three Chestnut-collared Longspurs rose from a fence; and near a big strav stack in a field alive with ground squirrels--a Short-cared Owl flapped along in broad daylight. But the most interesting sight by the way was on a day when our little school boy and I were returning from his grandfather's in the two-wheeled sulkey, accompanied by the family dog. As old Polly jogged along, suddenly a big bird with long flapping wings came screaming toward us, followed pres- ently by two nearly grown young. As we watched astonished, they crossed the road ahead of us and flew down by a pool of water on the other side of the road, as they did so, raising such striking black and white banded wings that I exclaimed delightedly, "Willets !" At first the young stood on the brown field while their mother stood around trying to decoy us away, but when we did not go, and no harm came to the 'young, she finally lit near them for a few moments. On the brown earth they all looked dim, their brown toning in almost to invisibility. Quite different they were from the Upland Plover,