BIRDS IN A VILLAGE 9 



when a stranger couldn't show himself in the 

 place without being jeered at and insulted. Yes, 

 they were a rough lot down in that hole — the 

 Badgers, they were called, and that's what they 

 are called still.'* 



The pity of it was that I didn't know this be- 

 fore I went among them! But it was not re- 

 membered against me that I had wounded their 

 susceptibilities; they soon found that I was noth- 

 ing but a harmless field naturalist, and I had 

 friendly relations with many of them. 



At the extremity of the straggling village was 

 the beginning of an extensive common, where it was 

 always possible to spend an hour or two without 

 seeing r human creature. A few sheep grazed and 

 browsed there, roaming about in twos and threes 

 and half-dozens, tearing their fleeces for the 

 benefit of nest-building birds, in the great tangled 

 masses of mingled furze and bramble and briar. 

 Birds were abundant there — all those kinds that 

 love the common's openness, and the rough, 

 thorny vegetation that flourishes on it. But the 

 village — or rather, the large open space occu- 

 pied by it, formed the headquarters and centre 

 of a paradise of birds (as I soon began to think 



