72 LONDON CHILDREN 



material was the voice of the brook, almost 

 inaudible, but lifting the heart with sudden 

 joy for its poem. 



I watched the two birds, so happy with 

 each other, and heedless of anything but 

 the immediate joyful moment, carry the 

 down to a quick-set hedge, snowy with 

 blossom, dividing the meadow from the 

 wheatfield. They disappeared for a moment 

 among its greeneries and spiky thorns, and 

 then flew back to the covert, still murmuring 

 to each other in their wheezy, subdued 

 tones. In the hedge the house was nearly 

 completed, and had been fashioned with 

 wondrous skill. Outside the birds had 

 woven gray lichen from the apple trees 

 with the green moss found under the oaks, 

 and gradually a long, bottle-shaped nest 

 had grown among the thorns. Several 

 hundreds of feathers had been borne from 

 the farmyard distant over a mile each 

 iourney made with the feeble jerky flight. 

 Think of the infinite labour and searching 



