58 THE LIFE OF THE FIELDS. 



At even a fern-owl beats by, passing close to the eaves 

 whence the moths issue. On the narrow waggon- 

 track which descends along a coorabe and is worn in 

 chalk, the heat pours down by day as if an invisible 

 lens in the atmosphere focussed the sun's rays. Strong 

 woody knapweed endures it, so does toadflax and pale 

 blue scabious, and wild mignonette. The very sun of 

 Spain burns and burns and ripens the wheat on the 

 edge of the coombe, and will only let the spring 

 moisten a yard or two around it ; but there a few 

 rushes have sprung, and in the water itself brooklime 

 with blue flowers grows so thickly that nothing but a 

 bird could find space to drink. So down again from 

 this sun of Spain to woody coverts where the wild 

 hops are blocking every avenue, and green-flowered 

 bryony would fain climb to the trees; where grey-flecked 

 ivy winds spirally about the red rugged bark of pines, 

 where burdocks fight for the footpath, and teazle-heads 

 look over the low hedges. Brake-fern rises five feet 

 high; in some way woodpeckers are associated with 

 brake, and there seem more of them where it flourishes. 

 If you count the depth and strength of its roots in the 

 loamy sand, add the thickness of its flattened stem, 

 and the width of its branching fronds, you may say 

 that it comes near to be a little tree. Beneath where 

 the ponds are bushy mare's-tails grow, and on the 

 moist banks jointed pewterwort; some of the broad 

 bronze leaves of water- weeds seem to try and conquer 

 the pond and cover it so firmly that a wagtail may 

 run on them. A white butterfly follows along the 

 waggon-road, the pheasants slip away as quietly as the 

 butterfly flies, but a jay screeches loudly and flutters 



