THISTLE-DOWN 17 



He passed me, then paused, and after a moment or two 

 said hesitatingly, " Can you spare a penny ? " I gave 

 him something without looking at his face again, and 

 went on my way sorry that I had met him, for I knew 

 that those miserable eyes would continue to haunt me. 



Here, sitting in the room that was his — the author 

 of the strange Story — the morning sun filling it with 

 brightest light, the sounds he listened to coming in at 

 the open window — the intermittent whispering of the 

 foliage and the deeper continuous whisper of the near 

 sea, and cries and calls of so many birds that come 

 and go in the garden, each " deep in his day's employ " 

 — I cannot but think of him and lament again that 

 he was prematurely torn away from this living green 

 world he worshipped. 



Last evening when the tide began to ebb I went 

 down by the wet shaded lane to the beach, and sat 

 there for a long time watching a flock of half-a-dozen 

 little ringed dotterels running about and feeding on a 

 small patch of clean sand among the shingle. For 

 three days these dotterels had come to the same spot 

 at the turn of the tide, one gi'ey plover always in their 

 company. Evidently no one with a gun had seen 

 and fired at this plover, and living with the small 

 tame dotterels he had grown tame too ; and it seemed 

 wonderful to me that this shy bird should continue 

 quietly feeding within forty yards of where I sat, glass 

 in hand, never tired of admiring his rarely seen figure 

 and beautifully harmonious gTey mottled plumage. 



B 



