112 THE LIFE OF THE FIELDS. 



and for some time after one has left it each footstep 

 leaves a white mark on the turf On the ridge the 

 low trees and bushes have an outline like the flame 

 of a candle in a draught — the wind has blown them 

 till they have grown fixed in that shape. In an oak 

 across the ploughed field a flock of wood-pigeons 

 have settled ; on the furrows there are chaffinches, and 

 larks rise and float a few yards farther away. The 

 snow has ceased, and though there is no wind on the 

 surface, the clouds high above have opened somewhat, 

 not sufficient for the sun to shine, but to prolong the 

 already closing afternoon a few minutes. If the sun 

 shines to-morrow morning the lark will soar and sing, 

 though it is January, and the quick note of the chaf- 

 finch will be heard as he perches on the little branches 

 projecting from the trunks of trees below the great 

 boughs. Thrushes sing every mild day in December 

 and January, entirely irrespective of the season, also 

 before rain. 



A curious instance of a starling having a young 

 brood at this time of the year, recently recorded, seems 

 to suggest that birds are not really deceived by the 

 passing mildness of a few days, but are obliged to 

 prepare nests, finding themselves in a condition to 

 require them. The cause, in short, is physiological, 

 and not the folly of the bird. This starling had had 

 two previous broods, one in October, and now again in 

 December- January. The starling was not, therefore, de- 

 ceived by the chance of mild weather ; her own bodily 

 condition led her to the nest, and had she been a robin 

 or thrush she would have built one instead of resort- 

 ing to a cranny. It is certain that individuals among 



