446 THE ROLL OF THE SEASONS 



the " blacksteer," or simply the " steer." The diction- 

 ary just gives you " stare, " and there stops, leaving 

 you over an abyss that has no bottom. But " steer- 

 ling " could not be better. He is the little black steer 

 that sits on the flanks of the greater oxen or, walking 

 among their feet, appears to be grazing with them. 

 Perhaps our whirring cloud in the wood ought to be 

 called a herd. Certainly it is far too well drilled to be 

 called a mob. The sheep are just as much the friends 

 of our walking, chattering, glittering starling. Even 

 Leaflet 45 of the cold and proper Board of Agricul- 

 ture and Fisheries breaks out into rank anthropo- 

 morphism and says : " Sheep regard starlings as 

 their natural friends, and permit them to alight on 

 their backs to take out the keds, ticks, etc., from their 

 wool." We fail to imagine how a sheep could prevent 

 a starling from settling where he will, if she should 

 take it into her head to remove the permission. Who, 

 in fact, has not seen a starling take the ruthless 

 mouthful of wool from the tick-jungle to soften the 

 lining of his nest? Still, an occasional act like that is 

 not unfriendly, as friendships go, and we do not doubt 

 that sheep and starlings are mutually pleasant to one 

 another. 



The massing of starlings in early autumn is a feudal 

 business. An old pair, taking their seven or eight 

 young to the pastures at the end of June, find them- 

 selves at the head of a little pack, ragged in drill but 

 not inconsiderable in numbers. The first brood has 

 scattered, and though the believer in family ties likes 

 to think that it is they who first join their younger 

 brothers and sisters, it is likely that they have gone 

 far away in several directions and are forming new 



