HAUNTS OF THE LAPWING. 225 



wee ! Up from the dusky surface of the arable 

 field springs a plover, and the notes are immediately 

 repeated by another. They can just be seen as 

 darker bodies against the shadow as they fly over- 

 head. Wee-ah-wee ! The sound grows fainter as 

 they fetch a longer circle in the gloom. 



There is another winter resort of plovers in the 

 valley where a barren waste was ploughed some years 

 ago. A few furze bushes still stand in the hedges 

 about it, and the corners are full of rushes. Not 

 all the grubbing of furze and bushes, the deep 

 ploughing and draining, has succeeded in rendering 

 the place fertile like the adjacent fields. The 

 character of a marsh adheres to it still. So long 

 as there is a crop, the lapwings keep away, but as 

 soon as the ploughs turn up the ground in autumn 

 they return. The place lies low, and level with the 

 waters in the ponds and streamlets. A mist hangs 

 about it in the evening, and even when there is none, 

 there is a distinct difference in the atmosphere while 

 passing it. From their hereditary home the lapwings 

 cannot be entirely driven away. Out of the mist 

 comes their plaintive cry; they are hidden, and 

 their exact locality is not to be discovered. Where 

 winter rules most ruthlessly, where darkness is 

 deepest in daylight, there the slender plovers stay 

 undaunted. 



II. SPUING. 



A soft sound of water moving among thousands 

 of grass-blades to the hearing it is as the sweetness 

 of spring air to the scent. It is so faint and so 



Q 



