A VALUED pet of ours is the whippoorwill or Antrostomus vociferus. When most of the other songsters have tucked their heads under their wings our whippoorwill wakes up to the business of the night.

First, he darts about catching insects and moths for his babies' breakfast—for this is their breakfast time—or if his babies are not hatched he takes the insects to the faithful mother-bird on the nest. After this is done he thinks his business cares are over, and he feels free to enjoy himself.

Our especial whippoorwill always selects the same spot, year after year, just about ten yards from our front door, in a clear white space on the shell-walk, and there, squatted on the ground and facing us as we sit on the piazza in the moonlight, he vociferously demands that we "whip poor Will." This demand he keeps up for a minute or two. Finding that we do not intend to heed his request, as our sturdy six-year-old Will objects, he commences a low muttering kind of grumbling.

Suddenly he has a new idea and he now orders us to "Chuck Will's widow! Chuck Will's widow!" but this order, too, goes unheeded, as our Will has no widow, and if he had why should we chuck her?

Now he does some more grumbling and finally flies away. We had almost forgotten him, when back he comes and squats in the same place. First he gives a low "Chuck, chuck;" then cries out shrilly, "You free Wheeler! You free Wheeler!" We know of no Wheeler who needs freeing, so again we cannot comply with his wishes.

Then, as if disgusted with our unresponsiveness, he flies up in a near-by orange tree where he laments somewhat like an Irishman: "O whirr-r, whirro! O whirr-r, whirro!"

He keeps this up so long that it causes some sleepy boy to say: "I wish that old bull-bat would be still." And sometimes the boy feels tempted to get up and drive him away, but he remembers in time that this feathered friend rids us of many obnoxious insects. For this reason the southern whippoorwill, or bull-bat, is protected by law in many of the states.

We know where our whippoorwill nests every year in May, and we often pay the mother-bird a visit in order to get a peep at her brown speckled eggs, and later at her two brown babies; but we never bother them, contenting ourselves with taking their picture with a kodak.

This last is very difficult to do, for mamma whippoorwill always selects a dense, shady part of the woods for her motherly duties. The nest is flat on the ground, generally under a palmetto leaf, which keeps off the rain. It is composed of dry leaves which seem to have been just scratched together, and is not noticeable unless the bird is there. Even then, the brown color of the bird blends with that of the ground and leaves, so that it takes sharp eyes to detect her.

When the young birds first leave the nest they sprawl about in a comical manner. When in repose they squat flat on the ground, with wings spread out to the fullest extent, and they keep up a rolling motion with their bodies from side to side, for all the world as if they wanted to roll over, but were prevented from doing so by the position of their large wings.