164 Idylls of the Field. 



among the branches until their wings were strong and 

 they gathered courage to launch out upon the yielding 

 air. But the hollow may be occupied still by the old 

 birds, for here in the heart of the greenwood starlings 

 are less likely to have taken possession. 



Yonder flying figure is perhaps one of the tenants. 

 He is coming this way. After a few quick beats of 

 his powerful pinions he closes his wings and sweeps 

 along with undulating flight, the last wave of which 

 brings him up to the stem of an old elm, where for a 

 moment he clings, silent and watchful, ere he begins 

 to beat the covers of what is no doubt a familiar 

 hunting-ground ; for sheets of bark stripped off and 

 ragged holes in the wood show that this is by no 

 means his first visit to the place. 



How still he is ! That, indeed, is the first rule of 

 woodcraft, as every naturalist has to learn. It is little 

 that he will see of life in the greenwood who canno 

 in that respect copy the children of the forest. 



The path gains the crest of the hill, and winds 

 down the farther slope between lines of noble trees, 

 whose dishevelled tresses strew the stony way. A 

 few bright leaves still cling about the Spanish chestnut 

 boughs, and flicker in the wind like flames. 



On a branch that leans out over the path crouches 

 a squirrel, watching you with all his eyes. He wears 

 his winter coat, warmer and thicker than his summer 

 dress, with an added dash of grey in it, and with long 

 tufts upon his pointed ears. 



