272 BIRDS AND MAN 



by the sea, where I would hear the roar and thunder 

 of the surf instead of this perpetual insane howling 

 and screaming of the wind round the house ? I 

 turn from the window with a shiver ; a splash of 

 rain hurled against it has blotted the landscape 

 out ; I go back once more to my comfortable easy- 

 chair by the fire. Patience ! Patience ! By and by, 

 I say to myself — I say it many times over — day- 

 light will be gone ; then the lamp will be brought 

 in, the curtains drawn, and tea will follow, with 

 buttered toast and other good things. Then the 

 solacing pipe, and thoughts and memories and some 

 pleasant waking drawn to while away the time. 



What shall this dream be ? Ah, what but the 

 best of all possible dreams on such a day as this — a 

 dream of spring ! Somewhere in the sweet west 

 country I shall stand in a wood where beeches grow ; 

 and it will be April, near the end of the month, before 

 the leaves are large enough to hide the blue sky 

 and the floating white clouds so far above their tops. 

 Perhaps I shall sit down on one of the huge root- 

 branches, " coiled like a grey old snake," so as to gaze 

 at ease before me at the cloud of purple-red boughs, 

 and interlacing twigs, sprinkled over with golden 

 buds and silky opening leaves of a fresh briUiant green 

 that has no match on the earth or sea, nor under the 



