228 THE OPEN AIR. 



his wayward course. He prolongs it. He has but 

 a few yards to fly to reach the well-known feeding- 

 ground by the brook where the grass is short ; perhaps 

 it has been eaten off by sheep. It is a straight and 

 easy line as a starling would fly. The plover thinks 

 nothing of a straight line; he winds first with the 

 course of the hedge, then rises aslant, uttering his 

 cry, wheels, and returns ; now this way, direct at me, 

 as if his object was to display his snowy breast; 

 suddenly rising aslant again, he wheels once more, 

 and goes right away from his object over above the 

 field whence he came. Another moment and he 

 returns; and so to and fro, and round and round, 

 till with a sidelong, unexpected sweep he alights 

 by the brook. He stands a minute, then utters his 

 cry, and runs a yard or so forward. In a little while 

 a second plover arrives from the field behind. He 

 too dances a maze in the air before he settles. Soon 

 a third joins them. They are visible at that spot 

 because the grass is short, elsewhere they would 

 be hidden. If one of these rises and flies to and 

 fro almost instantly another follows, and then it is, 

 indeed, a dance before they alight. The wheeling, 

 maze-tracing, devious windings continue till the eye 

 wearies and rests with pleasure on a passing butter- 

 fly. These birds have nests in the meadows adjoin- 

 ing; they meet here as a common feeding- ground. 

 Presently they will disperse, each returning to his 

 mate at the nest. Half an hour afterwards they will 

 meet once more, either here or on the wing. 



In this manner they spend their time from dawn 



