122 Idylls of the Field. 



no uncommon thing for the birds to turn out the rabbits 

 almost to the extent sometimes of a whole warren. 



The burrows, though often not more than four or 

 five feet in length, sometimes run in to twice that 

 distance, and either from accident or design are 

 generally so crooked that it is not easy to reach the 

 end. There is usually a bird on guard, too, and a 

 puffin's beak is no toy weapon of defence. 



The broad stone in front is only a look-out or a 

 place of meeting, but the birds that crowd the ledges 

 higher up are on the threshold of their dwellings, and 

 have little families hidden away among the hollows of 

 the rocks behind them. 



The puffins' eggs are long since hatched, and the 

 young birds, though wearing still their coats of down, 

 are already beginning to come out of their holes and 

 scramble down to the sea. 



As you clamber about among the rocks you will 

 hear the cries of the young, and may perhaps discover 

 in a narrow crevice among the granite slabs a member 

 of the rising generation. Near the entrance sits the 

 old bird, her plump figure just filling the fissure ; 

 turning up to you her strange, owl-like face, apparently 

 with no thought of fear, anxious only about the 

 safety of that dusky ball of down that crouches at the 

 far end of the crevice. 



The mother is not easily caught. She fights hard 

 with beak and claws, whose marks will perhaps remain 

 long imprinted on your fingers. 



