eted birth.
The young of altricial birds, like orioles, and bluebirds, and
thrushes, being born naked and helpless, have a reason for loving their
nest-homes, so carefully and delicately built to shelter their nude
infancy. But the young gull cares not for "a local habitation and a
name." All that he wants of home is a father and mother, nimble and
assiduous in bringing food to him while he flops around, practising his
legs and his wings.

It is August now, and the eggs are gone, shells and all. Almost all of
the young gulls are accomplished swimmers and fair fliers by this time,
and I suppose the majority of the brood can go with their parents to
the nearer harbours and along the island shores to forage for
themselves. But there are a few backward or lazy children--perhaps a
hundred--still hanging around the places where they chipped the egg,
hiding among the roots of the trees or crouching beside the rocks. What
quaint, ungainly creatures they are! Big-headed, awkward, dusky, like
gnomes or goblins, they hop and scuffle away as you come near them,
stumbling over the tangled dead branches and the tussocks of grass,
with outspread wings and clumsy motions. Follow one a little while and
he will take refuge in a hole under a fallen tree, or between two big
stones, squatting there without much apparent fright while you pat his
back or gently scratch his head. But you must be careful not to follow
the youngsters who are near the edge of the sea when there is a surf
running, for if you alarm them they will plunge into the water and be
bruised and wounded, perhaps killed, by the breakers throwing them
against the rocks.

Wild animals, like polecats and minks, who would be likely to prey upon
the young birds, are not allowed to reside on the island; and it is too
far to swim from the mainland. But I wonder why large hawks and other
birds of prey do not resort to this place as a marine restaurant.
Perhaps a young gull is too big, or too tough, or too high-flavoured a
dish for them. Possibly the old gulls know how to fight for their
offspring. I suppose that enough of the adult birds are always on hand
for defence, although during a good part of the day the majority of the
flock are away at the feeding-grounds.

I opened the gate of the light-house enclosure and went in. Three
little children who were playing in the garden came shyly up to me,
each silently offering a flower. The keeper of the light, who is a most
intelligen