fy-r.j^-j , 



84 MEMORIES 



the surface of the stream is broken ever so gently by 



one tiny wavelet that circles round some red thing 



like a winter hip, that was not there before. It is the 



scarlet patch upon the moorhen's head. This is all 



that we can see, close as we may look. But bright 



and keen are the eyes that watch us, and will watch 



until we go. And then if, ere the distance grows too 



great, we just glance back across our shoulder, we 



shall see the bird creep upwards from the water, 



threading deftly the thin low sedges, with white and 



flirting tail. A beautiful bird is the water-hen, and 



well-beloved of fishers and such as move by streams. 



More life can be seen in an hour by the river than 



/f <^«c/; a whole long day upon the hills. Look up, and you 



^.^^ will notice that birds that fly inland high overhead 



'^ \ follow the river as a blind man feels a clue. 



Above the broad flat meadows the peewits are 

 twisting in eccentric circles, crying all the while, for 





f their first eggs were crushed by the roller and the 



i^ f'^ ' dredge, and their second broods are not long hatched. 



They always run some dozen yards or so before they 

 rise, and will not light beside their young lest these 

 should be discovered, and so they tumble and twist 

 above our heads with sounding wings, and "peewit ! " 

 without pause, and so reproachfully that innocence, 



