SAMARITANS 



TOWARDS the end of August a pair of house- 

 martins (or eave-swallows I prefer the 

 name given them by Richard Jefferies) came 

 to my cottage wall, and clung, two slim, 

 black-and-white fairies, to the rough cob 

 surface. Excited twitterings and peckings 

 for a minute, then they flew away. Almost 

 immediately one returned with a beakful 

 of mud, taken from the verge of a ruddle- 

 red pool in the roadway. This was tacked 

 to the wall, close under the ragged fringe 

 of thatch, and away sped the bird as her 

 mate came with his burden. All day they 

 worked, seeming never to feed. 



But the nest grew slowly. Perhaps their 

 other muddied cup had been knocked down 

 by boys, or sparrows had seized it; by their 

 intense eagerness it appeared to me that 

 their first brood had failed altogether; there 



57 



