Tree-Shooting 41 



a large estate. Into the forest we had been, but 

 Southlands was a mystery,, a forbidden garden of 

 delight, with the terror of an oaken staff (and unknown 

 penalties) turning this way and that. Therefore the 

 stunted old oak on the verge — the moss-grown mere- 

 stone by the pond marked the limit — was so favourite 

 a perching-place. 



That beautiful afternoon I leaned both arms idly 

 on the great bough that crossed in front of the seat 

 and listened to the ' Caw — caw ! ' of the rooks as they 

 looked to see if the acorns were yet ripening. A 

 dead branch that had dropped partly into tlie brook 

 was swayed continually up and down by the current, 

 the water as it chafed against it causing a delicious 

 murmur. This lulled me to sleep, 



I woke with a start, and had it not been for the 

 bough crossing in front must have fallen twenty feet 

 Looking down into the meadow as soon as my eyes 

 were thoroughly open, I instantly noticed a covey 

 of young partridges a little way up beside the hedge 

 among the molehills. The neighbourhood of those 

 hillocks has an attraction for many birds ;. especially 

 in winter. Then fieldfares,, redwings, starlings, and 

 others prefer the meadows that are dotted with them. 

 In a frost if you see a thrush on a molehill it is very 

 likely to thaw shortly. Moles seem to feel the least 



