no WILD FLOWERS OF SCOTLAND 



then, he finds it hard to peer through the screen of 

 branches. Unless he hears the voices, he may 

 pass on, unaware that anyone is there. 



In the centre of the cup, the autumn and winter 

 rains form a pool, which persists through all but 

 the driest summers. An accommodating willow 

 has stretched a gnarled branch over the pool, 

 whence, in comfort and safety, one can watch the 

 water-beetles coming to the surface and bearing 

 clown with them their silver globule of air. From 

 just beyond the wood comes the low of kine, and 

 in the most out-of-the-way corner of the world 

 nestles a farm, where lives a farmer's wife, who is 

 seldom without, and never refuses, fresh milk and 

 floury scones. 



A month later, when all these waxen flowers 

 have given place to berries, black and red, which 

 happily occurs at school-holiday time, children's 

 voices are heard in every part of the wood. Tired 

 at length the young berry-hunters, with blackened 

 faces, gather on the willow, and chatter among 

 the branches like so many starlings or monkeys. 



And when the sun begins to dip they fill their 

 baskets, and leave only the lessening echoes of 

 their retreating voices to die into the silence of 

 the wood. 



