172 The Amateur Poacher 



The ploughed field that comes down almost to 

 the brook — a mere strip of meadow between — is green 

 too with rising wheat, high enough now to hide the 

 partridges. Before it got so tall it was pleasant to 

 watch the pair that frequent it ; they were so con- 

 fident that they did not even trouble to cower. At 

 any other time of year they would have run, or flown ; 

 but then, though scarcely forty yards away and 

 perfectly visible, they simply ceased feeding but 

 showed no further alarm. 



Upon the plough birds in general should look 

 as their best friend, for it provides them with the 

 staff of life as much as it does man. The earth 

 turned up under the share yields them grubs and 

 insects and worms : the seed is sown and the clods 

 harrowed, and they take a second toll ; the weeds are 

 hoed or pulled up, and at their roots there are more 

 insects ; from the stalk and ears and the bloom of 

 the rising corn they seize caterpillars ; when it is ripe 

 they enjoy the grain ; when it is cut and carried there 

 are ears in the stubble, and they can then feast on 

 the seeds of the innumerable plants that flowered 

 among it ; finally comes the plough again. It is as 

 if the men and horses worked for the birds. 



The horse-chestnut trees in the narrow copse 

 bloom ; the bees are humming everywhere and summer 



