100 IN THE PINE-TOP 



on the jackdaws astir on the church tower, now 

 on a labourer faring to work, now, as the light 

 grew, on the vessels wind-bound under St 

 Michael's Mount, and presently on the sun 

 when its bright face showed above the Lizard 

 and laid a golden pathway across the waters of 

 the bay. Soon the rays fired the pine-tops, 

 and turned to brightest crimson the tongue 

 of the marten as she licked her glossy fore- 

 legs and buff-coloured breast. When she had 

 finished grooming herself she lay awhile with her 

 head between her paws, blinking and enjoying 

 the genial warmth that dried her coat, and 

 at last sought the deserted hawk's nest in the 

 fork, where she had often curled up during her 

 forays. 



Her fastness was in the Land's End cliffs. 

 Never was castle wall so stately or so majestic 

 as the mural face of the precipice that furnished 

 her a refuge some thirty feet above the Atlantic, 

 whose roar was her lullaby. 



There she slept away most of the hours 

 between grey dawn and night. Awakened either 

 by the scream of homing seafowl or by the 

 level rays penetrating her lair, she watched 

 through the narrow portal of her retreat the 

 sun set, the glow die out of the west, and 

 darkness spread over the face of the waters, 



