far afield the daylight may see them, twi- 

 light finds them always close to the home- 

 nest. 



A pretty sight, indeed, if you can but 

 manage to steal upon it. There will be 

 twenty, thirty it may be fifty small brown 

 creatures, huddled all together, their striped 

 heads aring outside. At the touch it breaks 

 up into whirring wings or scurrying feet, 

 running hither and yon. Not till the in- 

 truder is miles away will they begin calling 

 one to another through the hushed dark. 



Wondrous weather-wise, too, are these 

 small deer. If they breakfast with cheery 

 piping, feeding straight away to the woods, 

 look for a hot, dry autumn day, full of windy 

 sunshine. When they hug the thickets 

 close snow is in the air ; when they make 

 for thick, rough cover sedge, briers, high 

 grass bitter winds will come out of the 

 north to freeze your marrow, to cut and sting. 



They are peeping now from the corn-land 

 it will be warm and wet all day. A clear, 

 jangling chorus cuts sharply through their 

 calling. Field-larks are at Matins twenty 

 yellow-breasts arow upon the big oak, for 

 so long a landmark of the pastures. Its 

 huge boll is dank and dark, all its big limbs 

 dripping. The plashing drops beat a fairy 



