ioo \AMBLES OF A <DOfMINI8 



dove comes back to roost at nightfall. Among the an- 

 cient trees below, stockdove and ringdove croon softly in 

 the gloaming. Here in the green depths the clamorous 

 woodpeckers shout to each other through long summer 

 days prophesying of the coming rain. There are no 

 starlings here to dispossess them. The hole in yonder 

 tree is an ancestral homestead, with threshold worn and 

 polished as by the use of many generations. The birds 

 themselves have vanished at the stir of footsteps on the 

 leaves, but on the dead branches of this dying oak are 

 signs of their late presence scars cut deep into the old 

 tree, loose sheets of bark their beaks have torn away. 



But of all birds that love this quiet spot the dipper is 

 the genius of the stream. Each bend is his familiar 

 haunt. There at all hours you will meet him. Some- 

 times, coming unaware upon the angler, he hails with 

 startled cry the invader of his realm. Sometimes he 

 waits to watch with bright bold eyes movements that 

 suggest no thought of danger. The fisherman who has 

 right knowledge of his craft regards the dipper as a 

 friend and brother. Conscious that the active little 

 diver has no stain of guilt upon his soul, he loves its 

 graceful ways, the music of its cry, its very presence on 

 the river. 



On a rock in the mid -stream the dipper stands. As 

 he looks away up the river his form alone is seen against 

 the rock, hung as it is with dripping moss and dark with 

 the plash of the water. A moment only he stands quiet ; 

 then diving into the very swiftest rush of the current, 

 he comes up a few seconds later on another resting-place 



