92 A PHILOSOPHER WITH NATURE 



rush. But if this is how the birds hide themselves, 

 how do they render their otherwise buoyant little 

 bodies suddenly heavy enough to enable them to 

 retain such a position under water ? 



As we continue to move through the sedge you 

 notice that the unusual exertion is having a wonder- 

 fully curative effect on the broken wing of the 

 mother. She is already taking short flights with it, 

 although still occasionally flopping back heavily 

 into the water. As you look she sits up and flaps 

 both wings airily enough. Now she springs into the 

 air, and, wheeling several times nimbly overhead, 

 actually takes her departure altogether, with a series 

 of wild, derisive quacks as a parting salute. You 

 feel somehow as if you had not got the best of the 

 encounter, and that you have been treated through- 

 out as a creature of inferior intelligence. 



Here, where the ground has become spongy again 

 the green mare's- tail spikes grow thickly together 

 near the edge of the water. A spot where a number 

 of spikes have been brought together at the top 

 attracts attention, and, following the tell-tale ap- 

 pearance downwards, you are moved to admiration 

 by the sight below. A snugly placed ball of dry 

 warm rushes and grass has been put together. In 

 the hollow are packed eleven eggs, considerably 

 smaller than those of the coot, and speckled with 

 rather larger dark-brown spots. It is the nest of a 

 moor-hen. One of the eggs is already fractured by 

 the little chick within, and within a few hours the 

 whole brood will be in the water. 



We must leave the water now, for the sedge has 

 suddenly ceased, and it is too deep to wade here. 

 We sit down on the grey shingle, worn smooth by 



