BIRDS OF THE HO.MESTEAD 



The little white house stands back from the road, 

 and may easily be passed by unobserved. Even 

 from the hill it is not readily made out, for it is set 

 in thickly-growing trees, and in summer only the 

 red tiles of the roof can be caught through the 

 leaves. It is remote from other dwellings, but 

 from the knoll amidst the beeches one can see the 

 blue smoke rising from the village, and, here and 

 there, gain a glimpse of the river as it winds 

 through the valley. On the trellised face of the 

 house Mrginian creepers, which turn to a deep red 

 in autumn, grow freely, and a climbing rose-bush 

 overhangs the door. In front the lawn, deeply 

 shaded by big trees, is skirted with banks of old- 

 time flowers — snapdragon, mignonette and musk — 

 which grow in tangled masses untended from year 

 to year. At first sight, these appear to limit the 

 little domain, but one may wander far on the mossy 

 paths, even through forest trees where bluebells 

 and daffodils grow wild in the long grass, before a 

 boundary is reached. 



The birds are never molested here, and a cat is 

 treated with the scant courtesy which the shepherd 

 accords to the ravening wolf, so that the more 

 familiar races have come to regard it as a home, and 

 even the wilder or rarer species relax something of 



