IN THE HAYFIELD 139 



shaved as it passed over. Thirty years fly away 

 as I press gently and hear the whine of the bees 

 within the nest and feel the moss thrill with their 

 indignation. I simply must take the roof off and 

 have a look at the jumble of egg-shaped cocoons 

 and honey cells that stands so far below the effort 

 of the hive-bee. 



Have there been any joys in life sweeter than 

 those of following the mower and picking up the 

 secrets that the grass had hidden and which he 

 pitilessly lays bare ? Sometimes it is a lark's 

 nest that would never have been found except by 

 means of the scythe ; once it was a pipit's nest 

 containing one ungainly chick, a cuckoo, that the 

 mower scientifically spared just as his scythe was 

 about to cut it in two ; sometimes the more con- 

 siderable embryo brood of the corncrake or part- 

 ridge delighted me more than a heap of diamonds. 

 And then, to see the surprise of a snake as it 

 glided from the standing grass on to the cropped 

 verdure no longer capable of hiding its sinuous 

 course ; to tease it with a stick and see it hiss and 

 hiss and make more and more ready to strike 

 without actually reaching this final act of baffled 

 hate ; lastly, to earn the abhorrent wonder of the 

 mowers by picking it up by the tail and carrying 

 it for a yard or two. When I came to know the 

 grass snake quite well I used to break down its 

 ridiculous bluff by offering a finger to its pre- 

 tended fangs, when it would become mild as milk, 

 merely watching for an opportunity for escape 



