138 AMONGST THE WOODLAND BIRDS— 
we walked between hedges or fencing, skirted 
by open meadow land with grazing cattle, 
sheep and horses, or by dense thickets, tall 
trees and isolated spinneys for the game. 
Through occasional gaps the open country 
was visible, stretching away as far as eye 
could see. It was made up of meadow land 
with grass (especially tall this year and almost 
ready for the scythe) or darker patches of 
green which indicated a well-wooded part. 
And I must not forget God’s acre and the 
little country church nestling amongst the 
sacred yews planted many years ago. A 
little brook meandered in and out (it has a 
name I suppose) almost overflowing its banks. 
At one spot was a sheet of the water-butter- 
cup, spreading right up to the little bridge, 
its hundreds of small white floating blooms 
all turned one way—to the sun that gave 
them life. This was indeed bird-land, and 
we found it flower-land as well. Besides 
numerous thrushes, blackbirds, robins, larks, 
chaffinches, rooks, swallows, house-martins, 
swifts, and of course sparrows, we saw or 
