BIRDS OF THE MOORLAND 317 



the rough tussocks or wheeling overhead uttering 

 their wailing cry. It has often been observed that 

 some birds have a peculiarly human quality in their 

 note. I think this applies strongly to the cry of 

 the Green Plover, especially when her eggs are 

 in jeopardy. Certainlv the cry seems to embody 

 both an entreaty and a threat. That the bird is 

 aware of the danger which menaces her young 

 and of the best means to avert it, is clear. When 

 she rises from her eggs or the place where her nest- 

 lings are concealed, she steals away without a 

 sound. It is onlv when one draws nearer that 

 she grows excited, flying close to the intruder and 

 protesting bitterlv against his presence. 



But the Meadow Pipit and the Green Plover are 

 birds of the field, and the Wren is a citizen of the 

 world. Of the true heather-dwellers, the birds 

 which build exclusively in its recesses and which 

 cling to it as the Dipper cleaves to the streams, the 

 Red Grouse is typical. 



When one recalls a certain October day, when 

 the beaters with their fluttering flags were abroad, 

 and the hillsides were alive with beating wings, 

 the moor to-day seems strangely deserted. But in 

 the cover of the deeper heather, vast numbers of 

 Grouse are hidden. In the midday heat they rest in 

 seclusion, but as the sun declines, they may be seen 

 in all directions, the dark forms feeding in little 

 groups on the belts of the younger heath, now- 

 growing freshly green in marked contrast with the 

 black, charred tracts of last season's burning. 



In the early morning, too, just when night 



