THE RAILS 253 



find another nest close by with eggs in it, and you may find 

 their eggs as early as Good Friday and as late as July. 



When the water -grasses grow rosy, they leave their 

 nesting-grounds, running about from place to place, often 

 flighting some distance at night-time, as do moorhens in 

 truth, one can sometimes hear waterhens very high up in the 

 sky of a night. But although they shift their grounds, they 

 never go far from the water, and often betray themselves by 

 their chicken-like squeals ; for though they fly high when 

 shifting grounds, they never fly much when in the stuff, but 

 generally " run for it " when danger is about. 



As the days draw in they begin to " perk " or jump up 

 on to the reeds and gladen to roost, never flying up into 

 low trees or bushes, however, as does the more cautious 

 waterhen. And this precaution is necessary, for when the 

 weather gets cold, and the stars sparkle with frosty light, 

 the weasels, and rats, and stoats get keen set, and often 

 devour them whilst asleep. But a stoat seems to fascinate 

 them by day; for if a stoat come across them in a yellow 

 reed-bed, the bird does not fly away, but runs on in a 

 dazed sort of way, and is soon and easily caught by the 

 hungry creature. Hawks, too, are fond of them in keen 

 weather; and if they escape the buzzards, and harriers, 

 and rooks in their childhood, the first hard winter that 

 comes they fall an easy prey to other vermin. Gunners 

 dislike them very much, because they warn other birds of 

 danger, and some gunners aver they are friendly with the 

 pheasant, to whom they always give the danger-tip. Nor 

 do they behave differently when chased by men than when 

 chased by vermin ; for they first of all seek to squat 

 or hide, so that they cannot be flushed without a dog, 

 who often is able to catch them before they will betray 

 themselves. 



When the water for they must have water in the 

 lagoons is turned to ice, and the stars sparkle, and cold 

 winds roar across the flatland, they draw up to the drains, 



