WATCHING BIRDS AT A STRAW-STACK 205 



comes down, which has a funny effect. They never 

 close or grapple, they do not even seem to do much 

 pecking, and when it is all over, neither of them 

 "seems one penny the worse." The great thing, 

 evidently, is to jump, and as long as a bird can do 

 it he has no cause to be dissatisfied. It is delightful 

 to watch them from so close. One can see the gleam 

 of each feather, catch their very expressions, and 

 sympathise with every spring. They look very thin 

 and elegant, and their plumage is all gloss and sheen. 

 All the while they keep uttering a sort of squealing 

 note which it is quite enchanting to hear. 



A few partridges now come down over the thin 

 snow towards the stack, at first fast, with a pause 

 between each run, during which they draw them- 

 selves up and throw the head and neck a little back. 

 Then they seem to waver in their intention ; and, 

 whilst one pecks at the body of a frosted swede, 

 another bends above it and sips with a delicate bill 

 a little of the rime upon its leaves. Then they come 

 on again, but, as they near the stack, with slower and 

 more hesitating steps, and no longer uttering their 

 curious, grating cry " ker-wee, ker-wee." Instead, one 

 hears now — for now they are in close proximity — all 

 sorts of pretty, little, soft, croodling sounds, seeming 

 to express contentment and happiness with a quiet 

 under-current of affection. Then they feed quietly 

 on the frontiers of their winter oasis. 



All at once something gorgeous and burnished 

 steals and therf flashes into sight. It is a pheasant. 

 He has come invisibly from another direction, and 

 ascending the opposite slope of the great chaff- 

 heap, rises over it like a second sun. Surely such 



