The Life of Jean Henri Fabre 



close-cropped by the sheep. It has no bushes, fer- 

 tile in rents and tears, for which I should have 

 to answer on returning home, nor any rocks, the 

 scaling of which involves like dangers ; nothing but 

 large, flat stones, scattered here and there. I have 

 only to go straight on, over smooth ground. But 

 the sward is as steep as a sloping roof. It is long, 

 ever so long; and my legs are very short. From 

 time to time I look up. My friends, the trees 

 on the hill-top, seem to be no nearer. Cheerly, 

 sonnie! Scramble away! 



What is this at my feet? A lovely bird has 

 flown from its hiding-place under the eaves of a 

 big stone. Bless us, here's a nest made of hair 

 and fine straw! It's the first I have ever found, 

 the first of the joys which the birds are to bring 

 me. And in this nest are six eggs, laid prettily 

 side by side ; and these eggs are a magnificent blue, 

 as though steeped in a dye of celestial azure. Over- 

 powered with happiness, I lie down on the grass 

 and stare. 



Meanwhile the mother, with a little clap of 

 her gullet — " Tack! Tack! " — flies anxiously from 

 stone to stone, not far from the intruder. My age 

 knows no pity, is still too barbarous to understand 

 maternal anguish. A plan is running in my head, 

 a plan worthy of a little beast of prey. I will 

 come back in a fortnight and collect the nestlings 

 before they can fly away. In the meantime, I will 

 just take one of those pretty blue eggs, only one, 

 as a trophy. Lest it should be crushed, I place 

 the fragile thing on a little moss in the scoop of 



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