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 July, 1919 A RETURN TO THE DAKOTA LAKE REGION 161 lay down exhausted, cryin in the feeble, forlorn little tones to which I had been listening. Itc was so small and weak that I imagined he had fallen out of his nest and that his first distressed outcry had come from the u. nexpected plunge. Where was his mother ? A call from an invisible adult made him react suf- ficiently to take a few toddling steps in its direction; but then, as if his dimly awakened mind lost its grasp, he stopped, fixed his feathers a little, and picked feebly from the ground. Again, when his calls were answered by a peep, as from a brother inside the tules, he made a weak run toward the sound, but tripped and went on his bill. Calling forlornly he picked himself up, but then sat down on the ground, too tired to stand, pathetic little chick! Just then a Black-crowned Night Heron rose from a neighboring blind with a loud squawk, and two old Coots with their nearly grown young s.wam out, one of the parents with lake weed in its bill. The sun came out lighting up the yellow bases of the reeds, turning the tule marsh into a miniature green forest, the re- flected stems patterning the smooth water and making a most attractive swim- raingopool. The nestling, creeping out a few feet farther, came near the edge of the pool and I wondered'whether he were feeling the ancestral lure of the water or whether, having been so prematurely projected from his nest--grant- ing my surmise to be correct--the dry warm nest still dominated his weak little mind. At half past nine, after an hour and a .half alone in the world, he had nearly stopped calling, and when a motherly te-t.ttb came from inside the tules, answered only faintly. He was getting rested, however, and soon went to work to preen his bedraggled plumage. As he combed his short bristly hairs with his red sealing wax bill, his markings came out plainly--his reddish crown encircled by black hairs with whitish hairs beneath. His stringy wings blew out as tiny flippers. But before his toilet could go farther, over he went, al- most on his back. That his mother might get courage to come to him, I moved, a little at a time, farther and farther back among the willows, at each move losing sight of him among the old dead rule stalks on the dark ground, finding him again only by means of his reddish head--of which interesting fact I made note. While I sat watching him through my willow screen, a Yellow Warbler flew down on the platform, looked about jauntily and then flew up clinging to the reeds, hunting for insects or, perhaps, threads for a second nest. A pair of Redwings also flew down to look over the platform for something they wanted. Then a large flock of Ducks passed over head, from one of the eastern lakes, flying on to light down by the Coulee. Would the mother Coot never come? Was she still brooding the brother nestlings, or was she down on the water feeding them while waiting for me to g'o ? Meanwhile the small Redhead had again been working on his toilet, and though he still looked decidedly hairy, seemed comparatively dry and fluffed out. Just then, losing his balance, he slipped into the water. Before I had time to wonder what he would do, he hurriedly climbed back onto dry land, his mind not yet free from the dry nest. This plunge, however, probably put him in a coming on mood, for it was not so bad as his first plunges, and when, after a little more preening, he slipped into the water again,.he settled down on its surface with the ease of long generations of aquatic ancestors, and