in Freedom 135 



angrily against the rocks. In no part do its surf- 

 beaten shores attain to any great height, although at 

 one end the land rises with giant boulders and forma- 

 tion of rocks, to an extent that they are not ignored by 

 the peregrine falcons as a nesting-place. 



But for the most part the ground is not much 

 raised above the ocean's level, and the loamy soil is 

 carpeted with coarse grass, sea-pink in sheets of pale 

 rose-colour, and bracken. Against the brilliancy of 

 the really blue sea — the colour of which can vie with 

 that of the Mediterranean — the thrift's pink has a 

 marvellous and intensely lovely effect. 



Here in May the amount of bird life is positively 

 bewildering. 



Putting aside the fact that there are countless 

 thousands of puffins, the ground beneath your feet is 

 thickly populated with Manx shearwaters (a big 

 petrel), which are, to a great extent, nocturnal in their 

 wanderings, and are now busy in their burrows, each 

 pair incubating a snow-white egg with a beautifully 

 polished surface. 



In places, at almost every step you take, your feet 

 sink with a sudden jerk into the soft dry soil, honey- 

 combed close under the surface by the burrowings of 

 the shearwaters and the puffins; and it is very trying 

 for the poor birds, which often happen to be sitting 

 immediately under the spot into which your foot 

 plunges. There is a scrambling under your feet, and 

 amidst an avalanche of pulverised peat and loam, a 

 poor puffin looks indignantly out, his comical little 

 yellow eyes half filled with dust. 



