BIRDS IN THE GREENWOODS 227 



distant point of the stream. Such birds, though not 

 alarmed themselves — for I frequently saw the com- 

 mencement and spontaneous nature of their flights — 

 yet always brought alarm to the others : a fact which 

 seems to me interesting, for it cannot be supposed 

 that these would have been disquieted at the mere 

 sight of one of their kind, and if they judged from 

 the flying bird's manner that it was seeking safety, 

 then they judged wrongly. This, again, does not 

 seem likely, and the only remaining explanation is 

 that they drew an inference — " This bird may be flying 

 from danger" — which, I think, must have been the 

 case. At any rate, each time it was a sauve qui petit, 

 one of themselves sent them all in a race to the 

 water, just as a dog or a man would have done. But 

 I must qualify the word " all." Often — perhaps each 

 time — one or two birds might be seen (like the 

 pheasant) to glance warily about, as though to assure 

 themselves whether there was danger or not, standing, 

 the while, in a hesitating attitude, and ready, on the 

 slightest indication, to follow their companions. Then, 

 having satisfied themselves, they would continue 

 quietly to browse — for moor-hens browse the grass 

 of meadows as do geese. 



Coming, now, to the opposite side of the bird's 

 character — its boldness and enterprise — I remember 

 one afternoon, when I had been watching the stone 

 curlews, seeing, just as evening was falling, a moor- 

 hen walking along the piece of wire netting which 

 skirted a wheat-field, or rather an arid waste of sand 

 where some wheat was feebly attempting to grow. 

 The whole country around was the chosen haunt of 

 the former birds, as opposed, therefore, to anything 



