2 BIRD LIFE IN WILD WALES 



stone's throw of a bubbling mountain torrent, where 

 we arrived one glorious evening at the very end of 

 fickle April, after a five-mile drive or so through a 

 magnificent range of cliff scenery. 



Here, after a welcome cup of tea, we meet the 

 keeper, a sturdy, bronzed, bewhiskered fellow ; 

 probably, too, as hard as nails, and we cannot help 

 vv^ondering if he will walk us down, as we start up a 

 somewhat steep and slippery incline. At last the 

 summit is reached. Here, two thousand feet above 

 sea-level, one can enjoy range after range of un- 

 broken hill scenery till everything fades in the blue 

 horizon, the little white inn the while lying peacefully 

 at the foot of the hillside which we have just mounted. 

 Once on the top, too, stretched full length in the 

 brown, sweet-smelling heather, there is ample time 

 for a pipe, while we are ever watchful for any sign of 

 bird life. Meadow Pipits flit about on all sides ; Sky- 

 larks serenade us joyously, some entirely lost to 

 view ; whilst a shy Wheatear flits from a boulder of 

 rock on to a slight eminence of the ground, looking 

 anxious enough as he surveys us with critical eye. 

 Somewhere near, no doubt, under a slate or pile of 

 stones, he has his snug home, which may contain as 

 many as half a dozen beautiful pale blue eggs. But 

 we will not trouble ourselves about them : higher 

 game is in prospect. And see, what is that ? Sweep- 

 ing round the edge of the hill, his strong pinions 

 cleaving the air, is a Buzzard — probably a male. 

 Doubtless he has seen us, but that troubles him little, 

 for here this splendid hawk enjoys protection, and 

 long may he do so ! 



