18 FEBRUARY IN BROADLAND. 



to the plough, for it is time the pease and beans were sown. The horses are some- 

 what restive ; their spell of idleness, that has made them impatient of restraint, 

 is ended, and hard work lies before them. Contented Hodge has been dressing 

 and repairing the hedges, and lopping the willows and poplars; their shorn limbs 

 lie alongside the hawthorns. In one field a number of graceful white birds are 

 eagerly following the plough. We have time just sufficient to identify them as 

 the train shoots into and through a belt of fir-trees, and the little Broadland 

 station looms into view. They are seabirds, and none other than the black- 

 headed gulls (Larus ridibundus) whose nests will be found in the early summer 

 upon the swampy 'ronds ' that margin some of the Broads. Food has been scarce 

 of late, and a meal of fat red earth-worms becomes a feast as well as a luxury. 



We have travelled in pleasant company. A brace of well-clad fishermen, 

 armed with the insignia of their craft, are bent on trying the case of Angler v. 

 Esox lucius, for the freshwater shark of our reedy lagoons has yielded to the 

 cravings of hunger, and come out from his lair in the reed-bed in search of small 

 fry for breakfast. As we trudge along by the naked hedgerows there is no lack 

 of pleasant chat. The Broadland angler is more than half a naturalist, and there 

 is much that calls for remark when more than one pair of eyes are keenly alert to 

 the sights and sounds which continuously present themselves, even at so gloomy 

 a season. Greenfinches in small flocks fly hurriedly overhead, whistling noisy 

 protests against meddlesome husbandmen whose radish-beds they have been too 

 busily gleaning in. A couple of red-faced goldfinches are tamely pecking at an 

 almost seedless thistle-tuft. We pass them at very close quarters. Who but the 

 heartless birdcatcher could begrudge them their freedom? He is as sorry as we 

 are at their perceptible decrease in the country, but his is a fox's grief. 



* We'll bid you good day for the present,' is the parting salute of one of our 

 impatient friends : ' Yow kin mardle (gossip) wi' the cadders (jackdaws) and ring- 

 dows, 'bor; but we hain't got no time to dawdle, so we'll jist gie ye the seal o' the 

 day and be a-moving,' jibes in angler number two with a merry laugh as he good- 

 temperedly wraps up his impatience in a bit of Broad Norfolk lingo. 



Left to ourselves, we saunter on yet more leisurely, so many interesting 

 tit-bits are turning up on every side. Now we peer through the hedge at some 

 starlings foraging upon a manure-strewn field. What can it be that so absorbs 

 their attentions? We clamber over the rickety gate to satisfy our curiosity, 

 scattering the much-surprised squabblers, who make for the nearest trees to watch 

 our strange procedure and await our departure. We find quite a host of brand- 



