CHAFFINCH LANE 129 



near the little pools. A chaffinch joins him, splashing 

 in the water ; then, after fluttering on a bending 

 branch and drying his feathers he drops to the 

 ground again, calls pink, pink, picks up a small piece 

 of moss, and away he goes up the lane between the 

 green bushes, the happiest and busiest creature in 

 Chaffinch Lane. 



It always takes a lover of Nature a long time to 

 walk from end to end of Chaffinch Lane. Every 

 step something fresh attracts notice ; in nearly every 

 bush and tree I see something that reminds me of 

 happy days gone by, for I have known and loved 

 this lane all my life, and scenes which remind us of 

 younger days are always fascinating in their interest. 



When at last I reach the old bridge that spans the 

 brook at the end of the lane I halt for rest, for it is 

 here that much more of Nature is to be seen. The 

 stream is flowing slowly, and near the hedge a trickle 

 of water attracts attention ; it is the water from the 

 spring higher up the hill that has found its way 

 underneath the thick dark bushes to the larger 

 stream. Just round the curve a long row of old 

 pollard willows stand like so many sentinels along 

 the stream-side. The marsh-tit breeds in these, 

 boring its own hole through the solid wood. It 

 has always been a mystery to me how a bird with 

 such a tiny beak can make a hole in wood that it is 

 difficult to cut with a sharp knife ; but the marsh-tit 

 i 



