i 2 6 ADVENTURES AMONG BIRDS 



affection. For the meadow pipit is like that person, 

 usually a woman, whom we call a "poor fool" because 

 of a too tender heart, who is perhaps the mother of 

 a great hulking brute of a son who gobbled up all 

 he could get out of her, caring nothing whether she 

 starved or not, and when it suited his pleasure went 

 off and took no more thought of her — of the poor 

 devoted fool waiting and pining for her darling's 

 return. The pipit's memory is just as faithful; she 

 remembers the big greedy son she fed and warmed 

 with her little breast a year or two ago, who went 

 away, goodness knows where, a long time back; and 

 in every cuckoo that flies by she thinks she sees him 

 again and flies after him to tell him of her undying 

 love and pride in his bigness and fine feathers and 

 loud voice. 



Who that knows it intimately, who sees it creeping 

 about among the grass and heather on its pretty little 

 pink legs, and watches its large dark eyes full of shy 

 curiosity as it returns your look, and who listens to 

 its small delicate tinkling strain on the moor as it 

 flies up and up, then slowly descends singing to earth, 

 can fail to love the meadow pipit — the poor little 

 feathered fool? 



Concerning the breeding habits, the friendship and 

 very one-sided partnership between these two species, 

 Mr. Salt informed me that all the cuckoos' eggs he 

 had found in fifty-five years, during which he had 

 been observing the birds of the district, were in 

 meadow-pipits' nests. Nor had he ever seen a young 

 cuckoo being tended by the numerous other species 



