2c8 BIRDS OF THE WAVE AND WOODLAND 



to fetch something up from down below, or makes an unex- 

 pected dash at an insect that is skimming across to the reeds — 

 twist and wind about and get in each other's way, Hke a 

 squad of badly-managed boats, that keep on fouling and 

 ramming one another, and all the time keep up a feeble 

 little chorus of disconsolate cheep-cheep. But they are 

 learninir their lessons all the time, and it is delightful to 

 watch their imitations. They gape at the passing tlies, 

 make sudden little excursions, three inches at a time, after 

 something they think they see, and ridiculously attempt to 

 dive, as they notice their mother do. But they are so light 

 and so weak that the resistance of the water is too much for 

 them, and all they can do is to put their heads under water and 

 kick in the air with their legs, exactly like little boys trying 

 to turn somersaults on the grass, but only getting half over. 



Indeed, whatever the moorhens are doing, they are 

 interesting, and there is an alert sprightliness about them 

 when in company that is infinitely amusing. When an old 

 bird is alone (it is impossible to tell cock from hen) it is 

 very self-respecting and purposeful. As it goes upon the 

 grass there is a high-stepping, aristocratic gait about its 

 walk that even the affected little flirt of the tail accentuates, 

 and when he is in the water, with some object-point in view, 

 he swims both fast and straight. And what beautiful homes 

 they find, where the yellow iris grows, and the marsh- 

 marigold, and tangles of forget-me-not, where the stream 



