THE PAGEANT OF SUMMER. 47 



and grass, as the kingfisher takes a roach from the 

 water. A blackbird slips up into the oak and a dove 

 descends in the corner by the chestnut tree. But 

 these are not visible together, only one at a time and 

 with intervals. The larger part of the life of the 

 hedge is out of sight. All the thrush-fledglings, the 

 young blackbirds, and finches are hidden, most of 

 them on the mound among the ivy, and parsley, and 

 rough grasses, protected too by a roof of brambles. 

 The nests that still have eggs are not, like the nests 

 of the early days of April, easily found ; they are deep 

 down in the tangled herbage by the shore of the 

 ditch, or far inside the thorny thickets which then 

 looked mere bushes, and are now so broad. Landrails 

 are running in the grass concealed as a man would be 

 in a wood ; they have nests and eggs on the ground for 

 which you may search in vain till the mowers come. 



Up in the corner a fragment of white fur and 

 marks of scratching show where a doe has been pre- 

 paring for a litter. Some well-trodden runs lead from 

 mound to mound ; they are sandy near the hedge 

 where the particles have been carried out adhering to 

 the rabbits' feet and fur. A crow rises lazily from 

 the upper end of the field, and perches in the chestnut. 

 His presence, too, was unsuspected. He is there by 

 far too frequently. At this season the crows are 

 always in the mowing-grass, searching about, stalking 

 in winding tracks from furrow to furrow, picking up 

 an egg here and a foolish fledgling that has wandered 

 from the mound yonder. Very likely there may be 

 a moorhen or two slipping about under cover of the 

 long grass ; thus hidden, they can leave the shelter of 



