56 UNDER GREEN LEAVES 
in the bottom of the tussocks. And the air is all 
alive with tree pipits, or rather with their voices ; they 
rise from the lower and outermost boughs that reach 
out over the edge of the moor, right over the very tops 
of the trees ; then the wings and tail are spread out, 
and the gay-hearted little birds gradually float down 
singing, to the very twigs they started from. This 
is repeated over and over again, a rising, floating, 
musical performance. 
Great green dragon-flies dart past with their wind- 
mill-like sweep of wings. You hear the rustle and the 
click of them as they turn in flight ; wood-pigeons 
shoot over from the woods to the fields, and back 
again, whilst a plaintive Coo-coo-roo-roo-coo Cooee 
reaches one's ears, and sounds wonderfully conducive 
to repose ; to which, however, we may not yield ; nor 
do we wish to, we want to see all we can, as we do 
not come here too often. Beside a little shallow, just 
below, we come on one of the most beautiful sights 
that a wandering naturalist can see that of a pair of 
those graceful little water sprites, the grey wagtails, in 
their own home. The colours of this lovely species 
are as pure and bright as the water and the sand that 
he wades in and runs over. Some of my readers 
may not have seen the grey wagtail in his full breed- 
ing plumage. The head and back show warm grey ? 
