REDSHANK: PEEWIT 45 



air seems full of their trouble. To and fro he flies, 

 to this side and that; and finally, as if in imitation 

 of the small, fretful stonechat, he sweeps down to 

 alight on the topmost spray of some small tree or 

 tall bush not a furze but a willow ; and as it is an 

 insecure stand for a bird of his long thin wading legs, 

 he stands lightly, balancing himself with his wings; 

 beautiful in his white and pale-grey plumage, and his 

 slender form, on that airy perch of the willow in its 

 grey-green leaves and snow-white catkins ; and balanced 

 there, he still continues his sorrowful anxious cries 

 ever crying for me to go to go away and leave him 

 in peace. I leave him reluctantly, and have my 

 reward, for no sooner does he see me going than his 

 anxious cries change to that beautiful wild pipe, un- 

 rivalled except by the curlew among shore birds. 



Worst of all birds that can have no peace in their 

 lives so long as you are in sight is the peewit. The 

 harsh wailing sound of his crying voice as he wheels 

 about overhead, the mad downward rushes, when his 

 wings creak as he nears you, give the idea that he is 

 almost crazed with anxiety ; and one feels ashamed at 

 causing so much misery. Oh, poor bird ! is there no 

 way to make you understand without leaving the 

 ground, that your black-spotted, olive-coloured eggs are 

 perfectly safe; that a man can walk about on the 

 heath and be no more harmful to you than the Forest 

 ponies, and the ragged donkey browsing on a furze 

 bush, and the cow with her tinkling bell? I stand 



