THE BEECH WOODS 



turbers of the peaceful woods, now 

 became silent and wary as they began 

 the business of home-making. Echoes 

 from the farmyard of the Neighbour 

 reached the 'woods ; echoes of the tur- 

 moil and strife of battle. The English 

 sparrows — those rogues of the bird 

 world — do not sing, but fight or dance 

 their way to the heart of a mate with 

 a dizzy reel or a stately cotillion, as 

 the case requires. 



Down by the creek the " pussy wil- 

 low " catkins hung loaded with yellow 

 pollen. Buds swelled in the warm sun- 

 shine, and the earliest flowering tree — 

 the June berry — showed its white stars 

 at the border of the woods. Long before 

 this the hepaticas had pushed their 

 dainty flowers above the soil and run 

 riot among the roots of the beeches. 

 The yellow adder^s-tongue, with its 

 beautiful spotted leaves, grew abun- 

 dantly along the eastern clearing and 

 nodded in banks of yellow loveliness. 

 The first hint of renewing life — that 

 purplish haze of the far Spring woods 

 — became more varied each day by yel- 

 lowish-green touches of colour appear- 

 22 



