n me that day with special favor. I had
found not only the water-ousel itself, but also its nest. Suddenly
water-ousel number two, the mate of number one, appeared on the scene,
dipped, scanned me closely, flew to the slippery wall, darted to the
cranny, and deposited its morsel, as its spouse had done. This time I
heard the chirping of the youngsters. Before examining the nest I
decided to watch the performances of the parent birds, which soon cast
off all the restraint caused for a moment by my presence, taking me, no
doubt, for the ordinary sightseer who overlooks them altogether.

Again and again the birds plunged into the churning flood at the foot of
the falls, sometimes remaining under water what seemed a long while, and
always coming to the surface with a delicacy for the nestlings. They
were able to dip into the swift, white currents and wrestle with them
without being washed away. Of course, the water would sometimes carry
them down stream, but never more than a few inches, and never to a point
where they could be injured. They were perfect masters of the situation.
They simply slipped in and out like living chunks of cork. Their coats
were waterproof, all they needed to do being to shake off the crystal
drops now and then.

Their flight up the almost perpendicular face of the falls was one of
graceful celerity. Up, up, they would mount only a few inches from the
dashing current, and disappear upstream in search of food. In returning,
they would sweep down over the precipitous falls with the swiftness of
arrows, stopping themselves lightly with their outspread wings before
reaching the rocks below. From a human point of view it was a frightful
plunge; from the ousel point of view it was an every-day affair.

[Illustration: _Water-Ousel_

"_Up, up, only a few inches from the dashing current_"]

After watching the tussle between ousel and water for a long time, I
decided to take a peep at their nursery. In order to do this I was
compelled to wade into the stream a little below the falls, through mist
and spray; yet such humid quarters were the natural habitat and
playground of these interesting cinclids. And there the nest was, set in
a cleft about a foot and a half above the water, its outer walls kept
moist by the spray which constantly dashed against them from the falls.
The water was also dripping from the rock that over-hung the nest and
formed its roof. A damp, uncanny place for a bird's domicile, you