62 THE ROLL OF THE SEASONS 



scarlet-crested head, vigorously vibrating as he delivers 

 his little shower of eight or nine raps in one second. 

 Then he pauses for a minute or so, and again gives 

 the rattle that even the dull human ear can distinguish 

 over half a mile away. It is a day-long performance 

 that even becomes almost tiresome to those whose 

 windows are within earshot. Yet there are naturalists 

 who do not believe that the great-spotted woodpecker 

 so calls his mate. 



Beyond the field comes the wood which the summer 

 chiff-chaff especially loves, and in which he usually 

 reports his earliest arrival. It is decked with sallow 

 blooms in honour of his coming. Each sallow can be 

 seen nearly a mile off, as it seems to shine against 

 the dark background of budless branches of oak and 

 beech. It can be heard for thirty yards by reason of 

 the bees that hum through the crowded catkins. It 

 can be smelt for fully that distance to windward, 

 thanks to the wealth of undoubted honey with which 

 this sometime wind flower guerdons every winged 

 insect. 



Every bee and fly which the wood knows seems to 

 have gathered to the feast of sallows. Tortoise-shell 

 butterflies, out from their long hibernation, spread 

 their bright wings wide open as they sip deliciously 

 at the sweets. The drone-fly, excellently named from 

 its resemblance to the male bee of the hive, as well as 

 from its life of perfect indolence, begins here its long 

 summer feasting. A rare and elegant hawk-fly hovers 

 and sips, advancing or retiring unerringly by the 

 eighth of an inch necessary to accommodate its tongue 

 to the flower. And surely every bee that is awake is 

 busy here gathering honey or packing her pollen- 



