The rookery is most interesting after the chicks arrive. The young chicks are silvery or stately grey, with darker heads, which are heavy for the first day or so and hang down helplessly. After hatching the parents take equal share in tending the chicks, whatever they may have done before. For some weeks the nest cannot be left untended, or the chicks would perish of cold or fall victims to the skuas. When the young ones can hold up their heads the feeding begins, and at first the parent tries to induce its offspring to feed by tickling its bill and throat. After the chick has once learned to feed the parents are taxed by the clamouring for more food. For some weeks after hatching life in the rookery is smooth enough, for one parent is always on the nest and the young birds do not wander. Then the trouble begins, for the young begin to move about, and if anything disturbs the colony they suffer from panic. The chicks knowing neither nest nor parent cannot return home, so they meet the case by adopting parents, and although some of the old ones resent this method most of the chicks succeed in getting into nests. The old bird may have chicks already, but as she does not know which are her own she cannot drive the intruders away, and sometimes we saw a sorely puzzled parent trying to cover four gigantic chicks. The times comes when both parents must be absent together to get food for the growing chicks, and then the social order of the rookery gives way to chaos. But the social condition which is evolved out of the chaos is one of the most remarkable in nature, and both serves its purpose and saves the race. The parents returning with food come back from the sea with the intention of finding their nests and feeding their own young ones, but the young one assumes that the first old one that comes within reach is its parent, and, perhaps, it really thinks so, as the parents are all alike. An old bird, coming up full of shrimps, is met by clamorous youngsters before it has time to begin the search for its nest. The chicks order the parent to stand and deliver, and the latter scolds and runs off. But the chicks are both wheedling and imperative, and soon there begins one of those parent hunts which were so familiar at the end of the season. The result, however, is never in doubt. At intervals the old one is weak enough to stop and expostulate, but there is no indecision on the part of the young ones, which in the most matter-of-fact and persistent manner hunt the old one down. Sometimes these chases last for miles, but in the end the old one stops, and still spluttering and protesting delivers up. One would think that under these circumstances the weaker chicks would go to the wall, but as far as could be seen there were no ill-nourished young ones. Perhaps the hunt takes so long that all get a chance.