146 THE PARTRIDGE 



home in the furze-brake a few yards away, was 

 scarcely more attentive to her domestic duties. 

 And awhile the petals of the broom and the gorse 

 fell in a scented shower on the grass, the hya- 

 cinths and the violets were succeeded by the 

 may-bloom on low hawthorn sprays beneath the 

 oak, and in the undrained pasture beyond the 

 hedge the jewelled cups of the marsh marigolds 

 fringed a tiny pool where the birds of the neigh- 

 bourhood were wont to drink and bathe. 



Whenever the hen partridge rose from her 

 nest she covered the eggs with leaves and grass, 

 so that if in her absence sly carrion crows or 

 hunting weasels happened to peep through the 

 hedgerow the treasures in the hollow should 

 remain unseen. Even the most harmless of 

 Nature's wildlings are at all times keenly in- 

 quisitive. Knowledge of animal life is often 

 obtained only through familiarity with creatures 

 whose intelligence has been blunted by domesti- 

 cation, and we are accustomed to imagine that 

 the denizens of our woods and fields take at best a 

 perfunctory interest in their surroundings. From 

 watching a cow feeding in a pasture we can form 

 but few ideas of the habits of her kind in remote 

 ages, when they lived in herds amid the dense 

 growth of scattered forests and marshy plains, 

 and were surrounded by powerful enemies. 

 Those unapproachable wild geese that, in the 



