88 Idylls of the Field. 



living in the farm-yard or the street, are ready to avail 

 themselves of the handiwork of their suzerain in the 

 construction of their nests. 



A stray end of string or worsted "used in this way as 

 building material has, ere now, brought dire disaster 

 on the unfortunate architects. One old bird even 

 contrived to hang itself in a loop of worsted. Young 

 sparrows, snared by the lining of the nest, have been 

 imprisoned until late in the winter, fed all the while 

 by faithful relatives, until some kindly hand released 

 them from their bondage. 



Although many broods are fledged already, and 

 many more will soon have taken wing, there are not 

 a few birds that still possess their souls in patience, 

 warming their unhatched eggs. 



The kestrel, in her crevice in the cliff, has heard no 

 faint note of life beneath her sheltering feathers. 



Still the goldcrest is swinging in her snug green 

 hammock among the dark leafage of the churchyard 

 yew. A tiny nest it is to hold so much. A family of 

 eight have to find room in it, under their mother's 

 wings. But they are a tiny race ; five of them full- 

 grown would not amount altogether to a single 

 ounce. 



Less fettered still are the swifts, whose labours 

 have hardly even yet begun. Still on their untiring 

 wings they career with joyous screams across the 

 sky. 



Astir before the day begins to glimmer in the east, 



