64 By Leafy Ways. 



plumage, with the edges of the quill feathers softened 

 so as to look quite ragged, gives it the power of noise- 

 less flight as it skims over the meadows to pick up 

 mice and shrews for its quaint nestlings in their ancient 

 tree. 



It seldom leaves fur for feather, but a bird is no 

 doubt taken now and then, probably when at roost. 



The owl makes its home often in no very secluded 

 spot. We pass and repass the old elm that has shel- 

 tered generations of owls within its spacious hollow, 

 and seldom think perhaps of the staid and solemn 

 family that doze within. It is in a grassy lane, where 

 little heaps of grey ashes mark the site of many a gipsy 

 encampment. 



These straggling hedgerows are a very paradise for 

 birds. Along these tangled banks, fringed with broad 

 green hartstongue, whitethroat and willow-wren weave 

 their fragile nests. 



A moorhen drifting idly in and out of the reeds by 

 the shore of a little pond by the lane starts at our 

 approach. She quickens her pace, nodding her head 

 in time to the strokes of her feet, flirting her white tail 

 up and down as she swims. As we pass the stile she 

 takes wing and flies across the water and splashes 

 down into the thick growth of reeds that fringe the 

 margin. 



A little farther on an old elm tree leans out of the 

 hedgerow. Behind its grey ivy stems the shy creeper 

 builds year by year her cosy nest. Within the gnarled 



