12 A PHILOSOPHER WITH NATURE 



In the long grass where the furrow slopes steeply 

 and the ground is dry it is a delight to fling the body 

 at full length. The swallows fly high overhead in 

 the still air. The harsh laugh of the green wood- 

 pecker comes from far inland. The whistling wings 

 of the wild ducks sound above in the air as the birds 

 change their feeding grounds with the tide. They 

 are nearly all males to be seen here at this season, 

 for the females are sitting elsewhere and their 

 partners have to shift by themselves. A large dark 

 bird with steady and powerful beats of its black 

 wings is making for the hills in the east. It is the 

 raven, now far less commonly seen here than form- 

 erly, but the bird of superstition which shared the sea 

 journeyings of the Norsemen when they came here 

 still lingers on this coast despite persecution. 



As the eye descends it rests on something brown 

 quite close in the thick grass. As the herbage is 

 pressed down gently to bring it into view two little 

 hares are exposed to sight, lying as close as possible 

 together head to tail. There is not the slightest 

 movement from them ; even when one stands up 

 and walks round them they stir not. The ears are 

 laid back flat against the body and only the just 

 perceptible motion of the beautiful brown eyes, ex- 

 posing at times the faintest rim of white at the 

 edges, shows that every sense is alert. These little 

 creatures form the easy quarry of many birds of 

 prey overhead. They know instinctively that the 

 slightest movement is revealing, often sealing their 

 doom instantly. Hunted creatures are they from 

 birth to death. And yet when tamed, and you 

 speak from experience, full to overflowing of the 

 frolic and wanton of life. 



