14 THE ROLL OF THE SEASONS 



birds, the male dabchick keeps between the human 

 danger and his mate. As that goes round the pond, 

 he drives her towards the middle, near the edge of 

 the weeds, and himself wheels into the more danger- 

 ous position. She dives, scarcely making a ripple, 

 and shortly comes up with bright green weed in her 

 bill. The frosts have not hindered this subaqueous 

 meadow from growing ; there are already a few pieces 

 that she has cut off drifting near. Soon there will be 

 enough to build her huge, floating nest and to warm 

 the eggs by fermentation when she is away. 



The wood-pigeon is a returned wanderer in these 

 woods, for since late autumn his kind has been clean 

 absent. He is now cooing persistently, or clattering 

 through the beeches, or drifting voluptuously on still 

 wings. There is even an incipient platform of little 

 sticks newly laid in a pine since the gale blew itself 

 out. Outside the wood near the manor house the 

 rooks are playing round their nests rather than build- 

 ing. Three or four go towering up, and then come 

 down with a glancing, twirling fall. Another spreads 

 his tail into a fan, bows upon his perch, and emits a 

 cackling series of caws that he fondly imagines to be 

 music. Possibly he thinks (and his mate with him) 

 that he is singing far more sweetly than the thrush, 

 who is in fine form to-day. But the thrush at any 

 rate outlasts him and sings alone. When he pauses 

 for a moment there falls from the still air a tiny sound 

 of trumpets and a gaggle of geese comes into view, 

 winging in military formation towards the north. 

 A far higher latitude than ours will welcome its 

 harbingers in the morning. 



