THE WOOD-WREN 35 



reeling off the same decoy signals, stood the wood- 

 warbler, but the watcher was not to be misled 

 this time. Remembering that a bird had flown 

 up almost beneath his feet during his former 

 visit to the Island, he came to the ash, and there, 

 much to the wonder of the wood-wrens, seemed 

 to disappear into the ground. An hour passed 

 by, and then the hen warbler, convinced that the 

 danger was over, flitted in and out of the broom 

 and furze, pecking on tiptoe at stray flies hidden 

 among the leaves, and occasionally flashing into 

 the air, to hover for a second, and secure an 

 insect that had been disturbed in its concealment. 

 The furze was in full golden bloom, and the 

 atmosphere laden with its luscious scent. Along 

 slight, pale-green wands stood boldly out the 

 fresher and more brightly coloured blossoms of 

 the broom. Bees droned hither and thither, 

 drowsy beneath their loads of pollen dust. 

 Thousands of busy flies, transparent and silvery 

 in the light, but with dark heads and brown 

 legs, threaded the maze of their unceasing 

 evolutions, ascending straight towards the tree- 

 tops, then dropping suddenly, to circle and twist 

 in the spaces between the vernal sprays bedecked 

 with yellow blossoms. The blue eyebright dotted 

 the sward, amid notched leaves of chickweed 

 and dandelion, and long, slowly-waving plumes 

 of foxtail grass. 



