IN DUTCH WATER MEADOWS 207 



another world. Excepting when, every now and then, 

 birds, singly or in pairs, passed overhead, the noisy 

 tribes of the flat lands and ditches were left behind, 

 and not a sound was to be heard louder than the gentle 

 rattle of the dry bent as it moved in the breeze, the 

 trill of one or other of the little Warblers, which in 

 summer- time are commoner, perhaps, in Holland than 

 anywhere, or the song of a distant Lark in a sky the 

 faint blue of which blended perfectly with the pale 

 browns and yellows of sand and bleached grasses. 



As we sat among the sand-hills enjoying the calm, 

 three Hares, smaller and darker than our own Lowland 

 Hares, followed a few minutes later by a fourth, passed 

 within ten yards without noticing us. 



Our first day in Texel was past and gone, a pleasant 

 recollection only. A second and a third, as pleasant, 

 followed, to fly as fast. 



In a slushy water-meadow, eight or nine miles from 

 our first hunting-ground, we stood in the middle of 

 colonies of the Black and Common Terns, which bred 

 in sociable company with Godwits and Black-headed 

 Gulls. 



We had wondered at the courage of the slender 

 Avocets when man or bird approached their nests. 

 They were cowards compared with the little Black 

 Terns, which, as we stooped beside their eggs, dashed 

 at us with the recklessness of Skuas. 



They are beautiful birds as seen from below, with 

 slate-grey wings and bodies of shining black, shorter 



