300 WOODLANDERS AND FIELD FOLK 



the tarn. The green glint of the " water-wolf " 

 shows as it makes for the deeps. A pair of sand- 

 pipers, or summer snipe, run over the pebbles and 

 drift stuff, and then with tremulous wings make 

 across the mere. That restless, delicate reed- 

 warbler has its nest and its game preserves among 

 the rushes, and ceaselessly runs up and down the 

 stalks of the bog-plants. Its beautifully-domed 

 nest is interwoven with and supported by four reed 

 stems and sways gently in the wind. Sometimes 

 it even touches the water, but the brown eggs are 

 safe in their soft setting. Another bird of this wild 

 weed garden is the garrulous little sedge-warbler 

 a veritable mocking-bird, that seems to spend its 

 existence in imitating the birds of the marsh. 



But the bog-plants the exquisite floral denizens 

 of the tarn. There, deep down in the flags, are the 

 sinuous roots of the water-buttercup. Its starlike 

 flowers float on the water delicate white crowns 

 set in gold. The yellow and purple irises tower over 

 all, their great sword-like leaves the haunt of myriad 

 dragon-flies. These are everywhere sailing above 

 the warm water in vesture of blue and gold. Pretty 

 spiral shells, just half immersed, are dotted over the 

 mere, and constitute the fresh-water nautili of their 

 mountain home. Set everywhere along the marge 

 are tufts of woodruff, which emit an aroma as of 

 newly-mown hay. The tiny white flowers are tinged 



