88 A PHILOSOPHER WITH NATURE 



eye can just distinguish the flat head and grey- 

 green outline of one which has not yet moved and 

 which is still lurking in the deeper water. Every 

 living thing of suitable size is prey to these hungry 

 jaws. Many a pair of bright eyes belonging to a 

 little ball of black down has set out to cross this 

 treacherous pool but has never reached the other 

 side. A dull splash, an eddy in the water, and the 

 owner has disappeared. 



The water is nearly over our deep wading boots. 

 Drive your stick into the sand and listen as you 

 lean. We are in a land three hours from the nearest 

 railway station, and ten hours even then from Lon- 

 don. Over the wide expanse of water in front 

 which you cannot see, comes the harsh sound of 

 many voices. It is the screaming of the water-fowl, 

 but so subdued by distance that it almost forms 

 part of the silence. A few notes with long spaces 

 between from the wood-pigeons in the wood behind 

 sound so clear and distinct that they render the 

 early morning stillness in the interval more marked. 

 A loud croak close at hand causes you to turn. 

 There is a faint rustle and a glint of white and bright 

 red amongst the green, as a moor-hen, jerking her 

 tail impatiently, looks out from the reeds. She 

 wants to cross to the other side, and finds herself 

 intercepted. Her movements betray the mother, 

 and it is easy to tell that her nest is not a dozen 

 yards off. She strikes out now into the deep jumps 

 clear on to her feet, and races with outstretched 

 neck to the other side, apparently on the surface 

 of the water, but in reality supported by the broad 

 leaves of the water-lilies which the country folk 

 here call drowning lilies, from the belief that the 



