THE PAGEANT OF SUMMER 



without being seen to climb or fly. Sud- 

 denly he crosses to the tops of the haw- 

 thorn and immediately flings himself up 

 into the air a yard or two, his wings and 

 ruffled crest making a ragged outline ; jerk, 

 jerk, jerk, as if it were with the utmost 

 difficulty he could keep even at that height. 

 He scolds, and twitters, and chirps, and all 

 at once sinks like a stone into the hedge 

 and out of sight as a stone into a pond. 

 It is a whitethroat; his nest is deep in 

 the parsley and nettles. Presently he 

 will go out to the island apple-tree and 

 back again in a minute or two ; the pair of 

 them are so fond of each other's affection- 

 ate company they cannot remain apart. 



Watching the line of the hedge, about 

 every two minutes, either near at hand or 

 yonder a bird darts out just at the level of 

 the grass, hovers a second with labouring 

 wings, and returns as swiftly to the cover. 

 Sometimes it is a flycatcher, sometimes a 

 greenfinch, or chaffinch, now and then 

 a robin, in one place a shrike, perhaps 



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