SIGNS OF SPRING 39 



two hedge-sparrows were moving suspiciously 

 under the bush in which he had perched. They 

 were evidently looking at something which seemed 

 to alarm them. It was the bullfinch sitting in 

 the midst of dead leaves on the ground. No need 

 to fire again. Yet the bird, seeing the enemy 

 approach, attempted to rise. There was only a 

 feeble flutter of the wings. At the distance of 

 three yards the breathing could be heard, and all 

 the pretty colours were visible the jetty head, 

 bright red on the breast, slaty grey on the back. 

 Unable to fly, he cowered down, and as I further 

 approached he tried not to breathe at all, in 

 order to escape detection. Should he be shot 

 again, or left to die ? He seemed to answer the 

 query, for he crept into the darkest shadow of the 

 bush, looked all around, and nestled down as 

 though choosing that spot for the end. Suddenly 

 he began to struggle violently, attempted to rise 

 on his feet, shuffled along for half a yard, then 

 fell helpless. He panted for a little, and then 

 was still. 



Was this too cruel ? Let those reply who know 

 the bullfinch in his wild haunt, in shady thicket, on 



