42 THE LIFE OF THE FIELDS. 



slope of the mound, their tiers of well-balanced 

 branches rising like those of a tree. Such a sturdy 

 growth pushed back the ranks of hedge parsley in full 

 white flower, which blocked every avenue and wind- 

 ing bird's-path of the bank. But the " gix," or wild 

 parsnip, reached already high above both, and would 

 rear its fluted stalk, joint on joint, till it could face a 

 man. Trees they were to the lesser birds, not even 

 bending if perched on ; but though so stout, the birds 

 did not place their nests on or against them. Some- 

 thing in the odour of these umbelliferous plants, 

 perhaps, is not quite liked ; if brushed or bruised they 

 give out a bitter greenish scent. Under their cover, 

 well shaded and hidden, birds build, but not against 

 or on the stems, though they will affix their nests to 

 much less certain supports. With the grasses that 

 overhung the edge, with the rushes in the ditch itself, 

 and these great plants on the mound, the whole hedge 

 was wrapped and thickened. No cunning of glance 

 could see through it ; it would have needed a ladder 

 to help any one look over. 



It was between the may and the June roses. The 

 may bloom had fallen, and among the hawthorn boughs 

 were the little green bunches that would feed the red- 

 wings in autumn. High up the briars had climbed, 

 straight and towering while there was a thorn or an 

 ash sapling, or a yellow-green willow, to uphold them, 

 and then curving over towards the meadow. The 

 buds were on them, but not yet open ; it was between 

 the may and the rose. 



As the wind, wandering over the sea, takes from 

 each wave an invisible portion, and brings to those on 



