44 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM 



He has been sitting in the sunlight whilst I have 

 sketched his portrait, now he thinks he will get a 

 little more into the shade ; so, with a peculiar loping 

 gait, he moves further up the trunk and rests by the 

 side of a large limb. Now he shows himself to per- 

 fection, and I have managed to slip down on the 

 boards of the weir, where I lie, flat as a flounder, and 

 can study the animal, where an animal shows himself 

 most naturally, in his own home. 



There is just a little swell in the water, and his 

 mate shows her head above the surface. She has her 

 feet on the trunk, and is just about to join her lord 

 and master, when a moorhen flies from the meadow 

 into the river, squattering with her feet in the water. 

 That is enough ; with one gliding plunge, leaving not 

 a trace on the surface, they are under the bank in 

 their own quarters. 



Getting up from my flat posture I pick up my rod 

 and walk into the water-meadows. There I come on 

 my old friend, tackling up a gate. 



' Have ye sin anything ? ' he asks. 



' Yes, the pair of them ; they are at home.' 



' Ah, it's strange, ain't it, that shy things like them 

 should git so near where work's goin' on. Ye see 

 there's only the bank and just a strip o' sward betwixt 

 them an' the work-sheds. Make the most on it, it 



