AMONG THE HILLS. 35 



drowsiness steals over you, as you listen to the soft 

 hum of the summer breeze through the needles of 

 the firs, or the faint dripping tinkle of the trout 

 stream that runs through the glades. Drop down 

 into the valleys from the higher lands where you will, 

 and you will come on those small rills with their tiny 

 trout, pigmy fish, that fully illustrate the fitness of 

 all the conditions of natural law : a tiny rill with tiny 

 fish in it ; larger mouths would not get enough here 

 to fill them. These small fish are not young ; they 

 are the dwarf trout of the moorland rills. 



I am out on the moor early on a soft May morn- 

 ing. It is just light enough to see things : the old 

 clock indoors struck four as I slipped outside, the 

 best time for observation. Not a sound is to be 

 heard, and bird-life seems at first to be extinct. 

 Not so, however, for through the thin mist two birds 

 pass over with a swish of the wings. They are the 

 mallard and his mate, the duck leading. The wild 

 duck frequents spots which the duck tribe generally 

 are not supposed to visit. After the corn is cut they 

 will come to the harvest fields for the scattered 

 grain ; also to the margin of the woods for acorns, 

 if there is any water near. To prove this shoot your 



