66 <I(j4fMBLES OF A VOtMINIS 



parents on the branches of a hawthorn. The head of 

 the house is a smart little fellow, with his jet black cap, 

 his ruddy breast, his neat white collar. But his wife's 

 attire -is of a plainer tone, and the younger generation 

 are rather a clumsy set, with loose and speckled plumage, 

 and with no smartness at all. But they are a lively 

 crew, and the clear " chat, chat " of the old birds, is one 

 of the few sounds of life upon the hill. 



It was this note, perhaps, that disturbed a pair of 

 partridges from their rest among the flax. They leap a 

 little way into the air, but instead of flying off they 

 settle down again, and crane their necks above the grass. 

 Presently one of them slinks off, runs down the slope, 

 and disappears ; but the other, the hen no doubt, holds 

 her ground. She calls loudly twice. Then, at a still 

 louder, deeper note, a dozen little brown birds, much 

 like wrens in shape and colour, and looking hardly larger 

 as they fly, rise from the grass all round her, sail away 

 down the wind, and over the hedge into the next field. 

 The mother, too, has vanished. Her work is done. 

 Crouching down among the flowery jungle, she follows 

 her little family unseen. 



A still more characteristic tenant of the spot is one 

 that very possibly may escape notice altogether. All 

 day long she lies quiet and makes no sign. But the 

 nooks and corners of this straggling wilderness are the 

 very places for a nightjar's haunt. Somewhere among 

 the bracken, or behind a safer barricade of furze, or in a 

 hollow in one of the many stone- heaps dotted over the 

 slope, she is brooding on her eggs. She makes no nest 



