THE CUCKOO HABIT 



THE silence of a May afternoon is slightly ruffled by 

 a series of little coughs like the whisper of a loco- 

 motive, as a shadow-grey bird slants down through 

 the ash boughs and comes to rest on a green bank. 

 It sits still for a few moments, turns once, then rises 

 again and makes for a little crest where the grass 

 grows long and dry in little brow-like dashes. A 

 passing inspection is made as though the thought 

 had occurred that something edible might be there, 

 and the pointed grey wings are spread once more 

 and the hawk-like bird passes from sight. Thus 

 neatly and silently must the parasite do her work. 

 Bungling or hesitation is fatal ; smoothness approach- 

 ing self-effacement the whole stock-in-trade of those 

 who wish to impose on the carelessness or good 

 nature of others. Like a perfectly oiled and mathe- 

 matically adjusted machine the hen-cuckoo has 

 done her work, and the tit-lark's nest now contains 

 that which will rob it of its other treasures and make 

 exacting work for a pair of tiny foster-parents of 

 a monstrous chick. 



The life-history of the young cuckoo has been 

 abundantly described since the time when Jenner 

 professed to have witnessed it, confessing later that 



II 161 



