lower reaches of the Rhone.  Rocking gently in the river breeze, his nest sways pendent over the peaceful backwaters, at some distance from the too-impetuous current.  It hangs from the drooping end of the branch of a poplar, an old willow or an alder, all of them tall trees, favouring the banks of streams.

It consists of a cotton bag, closed all round, save for a small opening at the side, just sufficient to allow of the mother’s passage.  In shape, it resembles the body of an alembic, a chemist’s retort with a short lateral neck, or, better still, the foot of a stocking, with the edges brought together, but for a little round hole left at one side.  The outward appearances increase the likeness: one can almost see the traces of a knitting-needle working with coarse stitches.  That is why, struck by this shape, the Provençal peasant, in his expressive language, calls the Penduline lou Debassaire, the Stocking-knitter.