SEPTEMBER IN BROADLAND. 89 



freely, and the honeysuckle above it is yet adorning the hedges with its sweetly- 

 scented sprays. The hawthorn berries are assuming a ruddy hue, the old fir-trees 

 behind them are heavy with their myriad seed-cones, while here and there the 

 taller birches and oaks and ash-trees cast their shadows over them. 



By the time we are fairly within sight of the Broads the country folk are stir- 

 ring. The clanging of the anvil at the village smithy rings out clearly in the 

 quiet morning. Faint blue smoke curls upwards from the low chimneys; there is 

 scarcely sufficient wind to scatter it or to turn the sails of the quaint old mill in 

 the centre of the hamlet. There is not a ripple upon the river that meanders 

 slowly by, and in whose clear depths the houses and the white sails of the yacht 

 moored at the little staith are graphically .reflected. A couple of yachtsmen on the 

 bank are preparing for their morning dip. A mile beyond us lie spread the waters 

 of the Broad. 



We walk our safeties uphill, staying a moment beside a stile to take a glimpse 

 at a furzy knoll and the spreading landscape beyond it. We clamber over to 

 examine a gaudy wild-flower that has attracted our attention. A wheatear starts 

 up from a slight depression wherein it has been hunting for ground-loving spiders, 

 perches daintily upon a furze-spray, flicks its tail and darts away again to some 

 fresh location, making its white rump conspicuous in its flitting. There are a 

 number of others which are congregating ere they make for the downs of Sussex 

 on their way to cross the Channel. There is a host of linnets ; small flocks of them 

 are already working southward from the northern moors. Our home-bred birds are 

 congregating. The bird-catcher evidently knows it. Yonder is one of the fra- 

 ternity ; let us ' beard ' him. 



He salutes us with a nod and * Mornin' ! gintlemen,' and then resumes the 

 attitude of attention, with his pull-over cord in one hand, and the string which 

 works his * trigger-bird ' in the other. The * calls ' of his caged decoy-birds have 

 announced the arrival and passing over of a parcel of linnets. The man's face is 

 all animation as he pulls the lever of the trigger up and down ; and the little bird 

 braced upon the end of it flutters its wings in order to keep upon its perch. Down 

 go the poor creatures into the fatal space between the clap-nets, which are instantly 

 pulled up and over upon them. Farewell for ever ! sweet liberty and fair scenes 

 of early days and friendships ! 



M 



