BIRDS IN A VILLAGE ag 



dressing the others in the rook language on some 

 matter of great moment; or is he only expressing 

 some feeling in the only language he has — those 

 long, hoarse, uninflected sounds; and if so, what 

 feeling? Probably a very common one. The 

 rooks appeared happy and prosperous, feeding in 

 the meadow grass in that June weather, with the 

 hot sun shining on their glossy coats. Their days 

 of want were long past and forgotten; the anxious 

 breeding period was over; the tempest in the tall 

 trees; the annual slaughter of the young birds — 

 all past and forgotten. The old rook was simply 

 expressing the old truth, that life was worth 

 living. 



These rooks were usually accompanied by two 

 or three or more crows — a bird of so ill-repute 

 that the most out-and-out enthusiast for protec- 

 tion must find it hard to say a word in its favour. 

 At any rate, the rooks must think, if they think 

 at all, that this frequent visitor and attendant of 

 theirs is more kin than kind. I have related in 

 a former work that I once saw a peregrine strike 

 down and kill an owl — a sight that made me 

 gasp with astonishment. But I am inclined to 

 think of this act as only a slip, a slight aberration, 



