22 THE WOOD-WREN 



bees, the yellow flowers of the coltsfoot, asleep, 

 drooped over their crimson stalks. The golden 

 garment of the gorse was aglow in the slanting 

 sunbeams. 



To the wood-wren everything seemed too 

 wonderful to be true. The old familiar sights 

 and sounds aroused a hitherto unknown longing 

 for the arrival of the tiny mate that was to share 

 his summer happiness ; and, as he carefully 

 preened his feathers, he decided on a tour of 

 inspection through the copse and the adjoining 

 wood. Ephemerals were plentiful on the twigs 

 and under the leaves. Yesterday had been warm 

 and fine, and at noon a cloud of dancing insects 

 had moved over the bright face of the river. 

 Though the trout and salmon-pink had played 

 sad havoc with the spent " dark blues " borne 

 down beneath the surface of the stream, and with 

 the cock- winged duns floating on the sun-flecked 

 ripples, many a delicious morsel yet remained to 

 satisfy the wood-wren's appetite. Sensitive to 

 the gladness of spring and the charm of home, 

 the warbler called and sang, but no sweet answer- 

 ing cry was heard in the bushes, though his 

 music set all the willow-wrens atune, so that 

 the copse was ringed with the subdued and 

 immature strains of their sweet and wistful 

 melodies. 



Following the example of the willow-wrens, 



