6 By Leafy Ways. 



will lead out her dusky brood on these tranquil waters. 

 Happy the man who catches sight of the little crew as 

 they make their first plunge into the world. A single 

 day old, perhaps, they do not hesitate at the approach 

 of danger to scramble over the edge of the nest and 

 swim boldly after their anxious mother to safer shelter 

 on the opposite shore. Little balls of black down, 

 with a touch of vermilion for a beak, they venture 

 fearlessly on their first cruise, diving under obstructing 

 logs or steering carefully through a fleet of lily leaves 

 with the coolness of a practised hand. Sometimes a 

 low-hanging branch will shipwreck unawares a little 

 argonaut and turn him on his back, kicking his long 

 yellow feet helplessly in the air until righted by a 

 dexterous touch from the parent's bill. 



In a corner of the orchard yonder, as the spring 

 wears on, the redstart will settle down after her wan- 

 derings, and in the ancestral hollow in the moss- 

 grown tree will brood over her beautiful blue eggs, 

 while her handsome mate will sing to her from the 

 branch above, the briefest of lyrics indeed, but glowing 

 with the rich music of the south. 



The swallow will come north across the far Sahara, 

 and find her way back to the old shed on whose 

 blackened rafters her nest has hung so long. The 

 white-throat and the chiffchaff, and many another 

 rover, will return and join the musical throng that 

 weave their fairy homes among the leaves. 



Let no hasty hand disturb them, or too curious eye 



