A lost chick was never sought for, indeed there would have been no use in such a proceeding for it could not be recognised. On account of this peculiarity we were able to make many readjustments of the family arrangements. When the blizzard destroyed so many chicks we distributed the young from nests where there were two to nests where there were none, and these chicks were usually adopted with eagerness. When both birds are at a nest that is disturbed, or when the mate comes up from feeding to relieve guard, there is an interchange of civilities in the form of a loud squawking in unison, accompanied by a curious movement. The birds' necks are crossed, and at each squawk they are changed from side to side, first right then left. We were for some time mistaken in thinking that this harsh clamour was quarrelling. A bird returning from the sea came to the wrong nest and tried to converse with the occupant, who would have nothing to do with him. The occupant knew that her mate had just gone off for the day, and would not be such a fool as to return too early, so she sat still, indifferent to the squawking of the other. Presently a look of distress came into the visitor's face as he failed to get a response, but he was very slow to realise that he had made a mistake. The Adelies are not demonstrative of their affections, and it is difficult to discover if they have any beyond the instinctive affection for the young. One curious incident, however, did occur, which possibly, was in opposition to what we expected after a long study of the penguins' habits. An injured bird which we had tried to nurse died, and shortly afterwards a live penguin was found standing by it. We moved the dead bird to a distance, and after a time found the other again standing beside it. It was the general opinion that this was the dead bird's mate which had found it out. From any point of view the occurrence was puzzling, but I find it less difficult to believe that the bird had found its dead mate than that it took an interest in a dead stranger, because there were always plenty of dead birds about a rookery, and the living went about entirely indifferent to them. Instances of real kindness were sometimes noticed; for instance, our passage through the rookery frightened away the parent of a very young chick, and a bird passing a few yards away noticed this and came over to the chick. The bird cocked his head on one side as if saying: "Hullo! this little beggar's deserted; must do something for him." Then he tickled its bill, but the chick was too frightened to feed. After coaxing it in this way the bird turned away and put some food on the ground, and then lifting a little in his bill he put some on each side of the chick's bill. This was not an isolated case, but was observed on several occasions, the helper always running off when the rightful parent returned. [Illustration: Penguins listening to the Gramophone during the Summer]