We have already acknowledged that Mrs. Wilson wears the breeches and that she is more inclined to club life than she is to household cares. The case is, however, much more serious than we had at first suspected. I owe the original intimation of the true state of affairs to Mr. A. O. Treganza, the veteran oologist of Salt Lake City; and subsequent investigation of my own has abundantly confirmed his claims. Mrs. Wilson is a bigamist. Not occasionally, and of course not invariably, but very usually she maintains two establishments. Now that attention is called to it, we see that our notebooks are full of references to female phalaropes seen in company with two males. The association can not be accidental, for we are in the very midst of the breeding season. The males, frightened by our presence in the swamp, and not daring to remain longer upon their eggs, have sought the comforting presence of the head of their house. The three take counsel together, and it is only when the redoubtable lady announces that the way is clear that the dutiful cuckolds trail off to their nests. On the 6th and 7th of June, 1922, our M. C. O. party of three members gave close attention to a swamp in Long Valley, southern Mono County, at an altitude of 7,000 feet. We took 11 sets, of four eggs each, of the Wilson phalaropes, and we noted a distinct tendency of the nests to group themselves in pairs. In only one instance, however, were we able to trace clearly a connection between two occupied nests. These two, containing heavily incubated eggs, were situated only 42 feet apart, and the two males who were flushed from them by a surprise coup of ours joined themselves immediately to the only female who had shown any solicitude concerning this section of the swamp. _Nesting._--The Wilson phalarope is regarded by some egg collectors as an exasperating bird, because they have some difficulty in finding its nest. The nest is surprisingly well concealed, often in what seems to be scanty vegetation; and the eggs are good examples of protective coloration. I remember once crossing a moist meadow, covered with short grass which had been mowed the previous season; a male phalarope flushed from almost under foot, I threw down my hat to mark the spot and started hunting for the nest. I hunted in vain, until I gave it up and picked up my hat; there was the nest, with four eggs in it, under the hat and in plain sight.