46 WOODLANDERS AND FIELD FOLK 



beautiful blue as to be comparable only to them- 

 selves. 



! To-day, as I sat by the ditch-side with a handful 

 of pink apple-blossom, a crake ran out into the fresh 

 green grass, and gave out its characteristic spring 

 call. Although May-flower and marsh marigold 

 were blooming all about it, the season is so backward 

 that there was not tallness of grass to hide it, and it 

 soon made back to the shelter of the ditch. . . , 



With my face deep buried in summer grass I am 

 lying on the margin of the wood. All the ground by 

 fast-falling blossom is littered, and the air is instinct 

 with the very breath of life. The starlings, picking 

 among the sheep, are half-buried in the fresh green 

 grass, their metallic plumage flashing in the sun. 

 The sweet breath of kine comes from the cattle that 

 are lazily lying dotted over the meadows. What a 

 gentle, soft-eyed creature is the cow! A picture of 

 quiet contentment the huge ruminant suggests, as it 

 stands belly-deep in golden buttercups! How dewy 

 its nose, delicately fringed its ears, and white gleam- 

 ing its horns! Insects swarm about the cattle, and 

 the wagtails flit everywhere about them. That 

 beautifully slim yellow bird which has just alighted 

 is Ray's wagtail, and one of our most brightly- 

 coloured summer visitors. From the habit just 

 indicated the farmers call it the cow-bird. There 

 it runs among the fresh grass, picking innumerable 



