CAMEOS OF WILD LIFE. 59 



were plentiful in the birch coppices at Rivelin, and the 

 Chiff-chaff kept up its monotonous chant in the tall trees 

 by the stream. The coltsfoot flowers like golden stars 

 glistened among the clods of clay in the rough fallows. 

 Spring was coming the birds and flowers told me that 

 plainly enough ; yet still the wind was cold on the open 

 heights, and I remember I was glad to get into the larch 

 plantations with the Goldcrests and shelter from the 

 blast so, too, were the Willow Wrens. Every one of 

 them looked cold and sad, and seemed to wish itself 

 safe back again in sultry Africa. 



But to-day the scene has changed as if by magic. 

 The air is warm and spring-like, and the migratory birds 

 are back again in force. The brown moors are looking 

 greener ; the gorse coverts are clothed in gold. The 

 Peewits have begun laying at last How they wheel 

 and tumble, rise and fall in the air when their haunt is 

 invaded by man ! The pleasure of searching for their 

 pear-shaped brown spotted eggs is still the same as it 

 was a dozen years ago. In spite of the wailing Peewits 

 I soon discovered four of their nests amongst the more 

 broken ground, and noticed again how the parent birds 

 seem most anxious when you are really farthest from 

 their treasures. On the sides of the rough valley, where 

 the big boulders of millstone grit shade the tufts of 

 polypoddy, the Ring Ousel is heard singing his love-notes 

 to his mate amongst the birch trees lower down the hill. 



