1 84 THE ROLL OF THE SEASONS 



frolic. There was not a breath of air. The water 

 was apparently dead-still that is, if we stood so 

 back from the cliff edge as not to see the ripples 

 with which it sobbed on the sand. Steamers came 

 and went, leaving their trails of smoke, which 

 clung to the cool mirror and stayed there in 

 pointed heaps or crawled ever so slowly as the 

 never-resting sea-current furtively moved in that 

 deathly stillness. 



Then dazzling white thunder-clouds moved in the 

 far distance ; anon black rolls of clouds came round 

 the shoulder of the land, and presently the lightning 

 leapt from sea to air, thunder crashed, the heavens 

 were opened, and the rain descended, the cliffs 

 streamed with water, mud, and stones, as everything 

 seemed about to be overwhelmed with the power of 

 the water. It was pitiable to see the little birds 

 darting close to the earth as the deluge drove them 

 from one shelter to the next. And now, will the 

 thunder clear the air and settle the weather, or 

 will it just bring round again the long procession 

 of elemental effects that belong to an unsettled 

 time? 



This morning there is some blue sky and no rain. 

 April clouds are scattered about like hounds strayed 

 from yesterday's hunt. In a shiny pool about a 

 hundred lapwings are standing, their heads all one 

 way, and every bird doubled in the mirror. Round 

 the northern headland comes a flock of them on the 

 wing, thick-pinioned as no other birds are, lolloping 

 and turning in unison, now black, now snowy white, 

 as they turn ; now glinting in a streak of sunshine ; 

 now passing beneath a cloud. Perhaps the plovers 



