the shed and then flew out to sea, as if afraid. He flew off with the food, which, I fancy, was the breast of a curlew. Five minutes later he was back in the eyrie. He only offered the young a little of it and then settled down to brood again. I am now writing almost in the dark; it is past nine.
May 24th.—Last night I watched, and wrote till it was too dark to see. The Tiercel settled down and tried his best to cover the chicks, and for some time after one or other could be seen or heard shuffling to get under its father's breast. As it was now getting rather late, I had a little refreshment and got my bed ready. It was still possible to see the white outlines on the outer sides of his moustachial black patches, and also his white chin and breast as well, as he brooded. A little later, when the moon came out, these white patches were quite distinct, almost in the form of a white cravat, against the dark outlines of his beak and head. At 10 p.m. I turned in too. I woke up—still dark—fancy I heard the young Falcons calling—listen—and after a few minutes hear the sounds again—so sit up and can just see the dark outline of the brooding bird, with his white front and the white chicks beneath. So strike a light and find it is 2.45 a.m. Listen, and all is still for a time, then several times I hear oyster-catchers calling as they pass, and feel sure that this was the sound that roused me, as all is quiet in the eyrie and the Tiercel is still brooding. Have some breakfast, as I have had very little since my arrival, because, owing to the way the wind was rising last night, I thought there was some chance of my being weather-bound; but the wind soon went down again. It is now 3.15, and getting light, so I doze, sitting up in order to be ready and to avoid falling fast asleep. At 4.10 a.m, the Falcon commences "Hek-hekking" loudly, and I think she is in the air. The Tiercel leaves the eyrie and joins her. I catch sight of both flying round; but in a few minutes he returns without any food and broods again. At 4.50 a.m, the Falcon is calling the long-drawn-out, gull-like food cry, to which he immediately replies with the same cry and flies out to meet her. She transfers the quarry from her talons to his in the air. He brings it in, a song thrush, an adult, and quite intact, head and all. He feeds the young with it, occasionally swallowing a piece himself. He is very careful to
