176 WOODLANDERS AND FIELD FOLK 



out of the churning stream only a few feet below, is 

 a little newly-fledged bird, that keeps its precarious 

 poise on the side of the dripping rock by means of 

 a peculiar and incessant movement of the tail. It 

 is a young grey wagtail, unable as yet to fly. As I 

 watch it a stronger and more daring member of the 

 brood wings a brave little flight right across the 

 waterfall, and collapses breathlessly among the wet 

 mosses on the other side. I watch a little longer, 

 in perfect stillness. Ah! Here she comes the 

 mother bird winging her quick way up the torrent 

 and passing with a flash of yellow plumage below the 

 bridge. She is agitated by the presence of an 

 intruder in her haunts, and circles about her young- 

 ling with nervous evolutions, too disturbed to give 

 it the food that she carries in her bill, and betraying 

 her fear by the quick and restless movements of her 

 tail. But by and by my perfect stillness reassures 

 her. She flutters prettily above the tiny ball of 

 feathers upon the wet rock, and her fledgling raises 

 its head and opens an eager bill for the food. At the 

 distance from which I watch it is as if the mother, 

 hanging on slim, outstretched wings above her little 

 one, just caressed the clinging fluffy mite with her bill 

 before darting joyously away. 



The " rock wagtail," as the country folk call it, is 

 resident, and an early breeder; though not so early 

 as the dipper. Like the dipper it seems to embody 



