AN AUTUMN RAMBLE IN SURREY 105 



scold, and chatter at me, and, instead of retreating 

 higher up the tree, come lower down to have a look at 

 me. They are young and innocent, but will be wiser 

 before the winter is over. Young squirrels are pets I 

 should not care to keep ; they cry so pitifully for their 

 mother. 



With the exception of a kestrel hovering over a 

 meadow, and a covey of partridges dusting in the 

 road, I have not seen any bird-life yet. The reason 

 of that is, in the beginning of the fall of the year, 

 birds, with very few exceptions, frequent the open 

 fields, which abound in food of all kinds. Sparrows, 

 even, take a holiday then. Those that come about 

 my door to be fed at breakfast-time leave me at this 

 time for about six or eight weeks. They have just 

 now returned from their holiday, as hungry and as 

 impudent as ever. 



We have reached the moor ; but it is a Surrey 

 moor, rich in vegetation and green turf, not a bare 

 waste. The blue sky overhead is flecked here and 

 there with fleecy clouds, and a soft breeze, just strong 

 enough to whisper through the firs, comes from the 

 south. A stretch of thirty miles across the weald 

 shows the South-down hills, with many chalk 

 quarries in their sides and hollows. That flash of 

 soft light between the distant hills is the open sea. 



