16 THE INCOMING OF SUMMER 



were flitting upon the swarded downlands. 

 The flowers had gathered to themselves 

 all the light that the sun of early spring had 

 flung between swift clouds, the seeds were 

 formed, their hopes fulfilled. In their place 

 came wild strawberries and herb robert, 

 the dog-violet and the speedwell. 



The meadow grasses were not yet tall 

 enough to sigh at the wind's soft passing, 

 but a red admiral had been joying in the 

 sunlight for many days. Down by the 

 streamlet the moor-hen had woven her 

 rushy nest, bending an arch of withered 

 sedges over her labour to hide the speckled 

 eggs. In the mud of the pebbled shallows 

 her webbed feet left a track as she sought 

 for beetles. Small spoors, the imprint of 

 little claws, showed where a vole had made 

 quick passage across a mud-bank. In the 

 turfy bank its retreats were tunnelled, 

 leading to a domed hollow lined with 

 grasses here her young would shortly nestle. 

 From the stream and the shallow the rushes 



