THE HOME-COMING 67 



have won by days of flight. The sun strikes them as 

 they sit there, beaks settled into chests, bodies sunk 

 close to the bough, a quiet gurgle of throat-music 

 speaking of a content that conquers tiredness. The 

 birds are absolutely tame, and we can admire now, 

 as we cannot when the summer activity is on them, 

 the delicious scheme of their colouring the bronze- 

 gold of their throats, the whiteness of their breasts, 

 the purple blackness of the long cloak that covers 

 the back. The uniform seems to glow as freshly as 

 when it left Africa. 



The musical laugh of the wryneck ripples from the 

 orchard. A single tree in a notch of the downs by 

 the sea caught five of them one Sunday morning 

 lately. We shall not see five grown wrynecks in one 

 tree again till another year has gone by, but there 

 will be as many young ones in a hole in the apple 

 tree, whence our returned " cuckoo's mate " will ruth- 

 lessly drag out the nest of a blue tit to make room 

 for them. 



On another morning the Mediterranean wind has 

 brought a shower of gold. A score of yellow wag- 

 tails are running about among the cattle in the home 

 close, snipping up the first British insects they have 

 tasted for many long months. There is a flash of 

 feathered lightning among the pear blossoms of the 

 walled garden, to tell us that the gorgeous redstart 

 is again at work at his fly-catching. How glorious 

 to view again his tropical colouring his black casque 

 with snow-white crest, the slate-blue of his back 

 shading into pure grey at the sides, his flaming tail 

 constantly in motion ! 



In the dry ground, a rabbit seems to have flashed 



