throw it out behind. I would see a shower of dirt, and perchance
the tail of Koskomenos for a brief instant, then a period of
waiting, and another shower. This kept up till the tunnel was
bored perhaps two feet, when they undoubtedly made a sharp turn,
as is their custom. After that they brought most of the earth out
in their beaks. While one worked, the other watched or fished at
the minnow pool, so that there was steady progress as long as I
observed them.

For years I had regarded Koskomenos, as the birds and the rest of
the world regard bim, as a noisy, half-diabolical creature,
between bird and lizard, whom one must pass by with suspicion.
But that affair with the mink changed my feelings a bit.
Koskomenos' mate might lay her eggs like a reptile, but she could
defend them like any bird hero. So I took to watching more
carefully; which is the only way to get acquainted.

The first thing I noticed about the birds--an observation
confirmed later on many waters--was that each pair of kingfishers
have their own particular pools, over which they exercise
unquestioned lordship. There may be a dozen pairs of birds on a
single stream; but, so far as I have been able to observe, each
family has a certain stretch of water on which no other
kingfishers are allowed to fish. They may pass up and down
freely, but they never stop at the minnow pools; they are caught
watching near them, they are promptly driven out by the rightful
owners.

The same thing is true on the lake shores. Whether there is some
secret understanding and partition among them, or whether (which