68 THE ROLL OF THE SEASONS 



its flag as it popped into a hole ; but it is the wheat- 

 ear bobbing on its slim black legs, as though in ecstasy 

 at grasping again its native turf. He takes a little 

 run like a livelier thrush, and stands on a mole-hill, 

 where we can take a good look at his grey body, 

 tinged with rose at the throat, and slashed jet-black 

 behind the eye and along the closed wings. You 

 might have thought that he would be less conspicuous 

 against the dry grass or the stony bank if he were 

 dressed entirely in grey. But the fact is that the black 

 touches with which snow-birds and desert-birds are 

 painted help them to sink into their surroundings. 

 They represent the hollows that are certain to occur 

 in the smoothest snow-field or desert. An entirely 

 grey patch, as large as a wheatear, would soon draw 

 attention in a field of dappled grey, whereas when we 

 take the eyes off our bird we have difficulty in finding 

 him again until he moves. 



The hand of the south wind has flung us back our 

 birds, scattering them justly into every nook that 

 knew them last summer. Wheatears are wafted 

 across intervening lowlands to the uplands they 

 belong to ; landrails are blown over mountain-passes 

 to the fat valleys they love ; scarcely a nightingale 

 flutters beyond the line of the Severn ; a large area 

 in the southern home counties is without redstarts ; 

 pied fly-catchers go only to the Cumberland Lakes ; 

 and many other partialities are observed. These are 

 facts to make us believe that not only does the English- 

 bred bird come home to England, but that in practi- 

 cally every case each individual regains the very copse 

 where he was hatched, or where she built last year. 

 Where an old bird has died in the interim, one of its 



