The Nighthawk

Length ten inches.

Mottled black and rusty above.  Barred on the under parts with black and white or buff.  A white collar on the throat, a white spot going entirely through the wing, and a white band across the tail.

A Summer Citizen of eastern North America, from the Gulf of Mexico to Canada, travelling far south for the winter.

A shy neighbor but a valuable Citizen, belonging to the Ground Gleaners as well as Sky Sweepers.

THE WHIP-POOR-WILL

“This mysterious bird is also a dweller in lonely places, feeding at night in the woods, having no nest, and laying the eggs in a hollow in the ground or on a stump or log.  He is so nearly of the color of wood, earth, and rock, that you may pass near him a hundred times and never see him.  Then too, when he perches in the day-time, he does not sit across a branch like other birds, but lengthwise, so that House People and cats cannot see him from below or cannibal birds from above.  He is an insect-eater and so goes southward before hard frosts.”

“Does this bird make any noise, and why is he called the Whip-poor-will?” asked Nat; “that is such a funny name.”

Rap was about to answer when the Doctor signed to him and he stopped.

“Whip-poor-wills call their own name after dark, and I think you will hear them when we pass the miller’s woods in a few minutes; for some reason they seldom come about the Farm.”

“I believe I—­am—­growing—­sleepy,” murmured Dodo, trying to be polite and swallow a little yawn, but not wholly succeeding.

“I am very sure that I am,” said Olive.  “I don’t think any of us will sit up much later than the birds to-night!”

“I hear a Veery,” said Rap, “and a Phoebe too.”

“Whip-poor-will!  Whip-poor-will!  Church!” cried a loud voice close by, and something like a long-winged Owl almost struck Olive with its wing as it flitted past.

“Oh, my!” cried Dodo, waking suddenly, “that must be a Whip-poor-will, for he called his own name as plain as the Chickadee does; and listen! there are more of them all up the hill.”

Soon they passed Rap’s house and left him at the gate.  When the good old white horses trotted in the gate at Orchard Farm, Quick ran out, barking joyfully to tell them all that had happened during the day, and how he had guarded everything safely; but Dodo was fast asleep with her head on her uncle’s arm.

[Illustration:  Whip-Poor-Will.]

“De death lamb,” said Mammy Bun, who came out to help them unload; “don’ you go to wake her up, Massa Nat—­ole amyl tote her up to bed.  Dese am powerful healthy days for you chillness!  And Massa Doctor and Miss Olive—­if they ain’ mare’s half gone, too!  ’Scorpions am terrible sleepy things—­least when dere all over!”

The Whip-poor-will