TREE-CLIMBING BIRDS 



Following the path through the fields which 

 lead to the village, one comes to a stream spanned 

 by a single plank. The brown water, gurgling 

 amidst mossy stones, is soon lost sight of as it 

 glides beneath drooping branches on its way to the 

 valley beyond. Few of the passers-by pause for a 

 moment even to bestow a glance upon it, and none 

 turn aside to trace the windings of so insignificant 

 a thing. For a little way, its channel is bounded by 

 high banks, thickly overgrown ; but lower, these 

 fall away, and the stream enters a tiny level glade, 

 where it may catch the sunlight, although the trees 

 growing on the slopes to right and left well-nigh 

 form a canopy above its head. These trees, beaten 

 by opposite winds, all lean inwards, bending per- 

 manently in the direction where the slope of the 

 bank gives the least support to the roots. Here, in 

 this small, open space, a little above the stream, an 

 old tree-trunk stands amidst a wilderness of lush 

 grass, ferns and bluebells. It has been shattered at 

 some time by storm or lightning, or, more prob- 

 ably, by the fall of some heavier timber from the 

 higher ground. Its base is silvery-green with moss 

 and lichen, and a great rift in its side shows it to be 

 hollow. A little to the right, a hole may be seen, 

 suspiciously round to the eye accustomed to take 



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