A TIRED TRAVELLER 95 



— a medley of harsh and guttural sounds, without 

 the clear, piercing, insistent summer note; nor do 

 they rise high at this season, but after fluttering 

 upwards a distance of forty or fifty yards drop 

 again to earth. 



Seawards I had for horizon the low ridge of the 

 sand-hills overgrown with coarse grey-green grass, 

 and when on the ridge itself I looked over a vast 

 stretch of yellowish-brown sand; for it was low tide, 

 with the sea visible as a white line of foam and the 

 gleam of water more than a mile away. Here on the 

 sandy ridge there is an old sea-ruined coastguard 

 station, and, coming to it, I sat down on a pile of 

 brushwood at the side of the half-fallen buildings, 

 and after I had been there two or three minutes a 

 bird fluttered up from the grass close to my feet and 

 perched on the wood three or four yards from me. 

 A redwing! A tired traveller from the north, he had 

 no doubt arrived at that spot during the night, and 

 was waiting to recover from his great fatigue before 

 continuing his journey inland. He must have been 

 very tired to remain by himself in such beautiful 

 weather at that spot, when, close by on the further 

 side of the salt grey marsh, the green wooded country, 

 blue in the haze, was so plainly visible. For the red- 

 wing is a most sociable bird, and so long as his wings 

 can bear him up he cannot endure to be left behind. 

 Furthermore, he is exceedingly shy of the human 

 form, especially when he first arrives on our shores; 

 yet here was this shy bird, alone and sitting very 

 quietly, within three or four yards of me! Still, it 



