WILD PIGEONS 241 



with bees, or, more rarely, upon some thick branch of honey- 

 suckle, bright and sweet with trumpet-shaped " sucklings." 



At such times the little plantings by the water resound with 

 tender cooings, and the thin bright air is cleft as a single 

 bird flashes past in search of seed for the young — those 

 young that they feed with half-opened wings, ejecting the 

 mashed food into their very crops 'mid the family hubbub. 



And later, you may see the pair of youngsters sitting 

 upon some turnip or mangold balk, and should you show 

 up suddenly, they will run, and so swiftly that without a dog 

 you could not catch them. 



But 'tis little you will see of them at any time, for in 

 September they are gone, and, unlike the ring-dove and 

 stock-dove, they prefer a serener clime to winter in — a clime 

 where they can fight ; for, as every one knows, the dove 

 is no angel, but a hot-tempered, hot-passioned bird, whose 

 mate at times delights in arousing his ire by planting herself 

 with her tail to the wall when he is most amorous. 



But the doves are not Broadland birds, though they are 

 not rare there ; still, down in the marshland, we get glimpses 

 of them, as they rob the marsh - farmer in large flocks 

 assembled, or gather crowsfoot-seed upon the marshes, or 

 fly to and fro from planting to planting carrying food for 

 their young, or in the spring-time fly about the plantings 

 — the marshland and the broadland is not their home, 'tis 

 merely a district lying in their way, or else a place whence 

 they may gather food — they are birds of the cover. And 

 in such they delight, whilst their croonings, resounding far 

 over the marshland and the water, adds to the charm of the 

 district, be they heard in early spring, or in the after-glow 

 of summer, when the warm autumn bursts of sun delude 

 the more amorous into the belief that spring has come 

 again. Voices from the upland are the voices of the doves 

 to the dwellers in the marshlands, sweet afar-off" wood- 

 notes stealing across the great waters when the frail leaves 

 quiver and are lost in the crooning of the summer sea. 



Q 



