A few days after the eggs began to hatch there was a severe blizzard, which lasted for several days. Where the snow had drifted deepest, nests and birds were covered out of sight, and the indication of the whereabouts of a bird was a little funnel in the snow, at the bottom of which an anxious eye could be seen. On a moderate estimate about half the young perished in this blizzard. [Illustration: Adelie trying to mother a couple of well-grown Strangers. (_See page 215_)] The old Adelies do not mind the cold, their thick blubber and dense fur protecting them sufficiently, and in a blizzard they will lie still and let the snow cover them. Once after a blizzard I went to the rookery and could see no penguins, but suddenly, at some noise, they sprung out of the snow, and I was surrounded by them. While the Adelie appears to be entirely moral in his domestic arrangements, his stupidity (or his short-sightedness, which causes him to seem stupid) gives rise to many complications. All the birds go to their nests without hesitating when they come from the sea by the familiar route, but if taken from their nests to another part of the rookery, some easily find their way back but others are quite lost. They are most puzzled when moved only a little way from home, and they will fight to keep another bird's nest while their own is only a couple of feet away. There is no doubt, however, that the presence of our camp upset their social arrangements, and probably when undisturbed there would be no confusion and complications. As it was, a mere walk among the nests caused innumerable entanglements, for one bird would leave its nest in fright, and flop down a yard away beside a nest already occupied, or on a nest left exposed by another frightened bird. But in all such cases, even when a bird got established on the wrong nest, things were always put straight afterwards. When they calmed down they became uneasy, probably observing the landmarks more critically, and they would even leave a nest with chicks for their own empty nest. We tried some experiments on the penguins in order to trace the working of their minds. If one of us stood between a bird and its nest so as to prevent it from approaching, the bird would make many furious attempts to reach home. After a time, however, it would appear to meditate, and then walk off rather disconsolately, and having made a tour of the colony would approach the nest from the other side. Apparently it was greatly astonished to find that the intruder was still there, and this curious trait was often seen. It is like the ostrich burying its head in the sand and imagining itself safe, or like a man refusing to believe his own eyes. It appears to think that if it comes to the nest from the other side the horrible vision will have disappeared.