BIRDS OF THE WAVE AND WOODLAND 67 



in June. Long after dusk, its plaintive note can be heard, 

 now liere, now there, among- the tussocked grass, as the 

 birds reply to one another from their sleeping-places. And 

 the mist comes creeping up on to the moorland from the 

 reedy mere beyond, and in the distance may be heard the 

 voices of the water-birds settlinor down for the nio-ht amono^ 

 the plumy sedges, where the grey heron, perched upon the 

 skeleton of some water-loaf ored boat, seems to act as time- 

 keeper to the ducks and widgeon that live hard by, and 

 are under orders to be " within doors " by nightfall. 



Listening to the twilight voices of birds, the most 

 notable by far, that which holds the attention longest, though 

 it may not be the first to catch the ear, is the fern-owl, 

 whirrinpf to his mate as she hawks backwards and forwards 

 over the undergrowth, and turning in the air as she flies with 

 queer sweep of the wings. Where there is one pair there 

 are generally more, and the sound seems continuous, one 

 bird taking it up from the other, or more than one 

 "churring" at the same time. No bird of its size performs 

 more curious antics on the wing than the "nightjar" or 

 "goatsucker," and it is almost incredible that the creature, 

 flapping and tumbling in such ungainly fashion through the 

 air, when startled from its sleeping-place in the day-time, is 

 the same that one sees sailing and sliding so gracefully after 

 niofhtfall. 



I know a beautiful orchard where these birds haunt. 



