yn 



AFTER the middle of June the common began 

 to attract me more and more. It was so extensive 

 that, standing on its border, just beyond the last 

 straggling cottages and orchards, the further side 

 was seen only as a line of blue trees, indistinct in 

 the distance. As I grew to know it better, add- 

 ing each day to my list from its varied bird life, 

 the woods and waterside were visited less and 

 less frequently, and after the bird-scaring noises 

 began in the village, its wildness and quiet be- 

 came increasingly grateful. The silence of nature 

 was broken only by bird sounds, and the most 

 frequent sound was that of the yellow bunting, 

 as, perched motionless on the summit of a gorse 

 bush, his yellow head conspicuous at a consider- 

 able distance, he emitted his thin monotonous 

 chant at regular intervals, like a painted toy-bird 

 that sings by machinery. There, too, sedentary 

 as an owl in the daytime, the corn bunting was 



86 



