At Home with Wild Nature 



Presently he flies away down wind and reappears 

 with a brilliantly green caterpillar in his bill, which 

 argues a sitting mate, or, more probably still, a nest 

 containing young ones. Moving a little nearer the 

 marsh I sit quietly down to watch him. Yes, the whole 

 science of observing wild birds, and beasties too, lies in 

 keeping perfect stillness, death-like silence, and watch- 

 ing everything out of the tail of your eye, as it were. 

 There is nothing wild creatures dislike half so much as 

 the direct stare of the human eye, except perhaps the 

 steady glower of the lens of a camera. 



All is quiet save for the noisy yelping of a redshank, 

 disturbed by a wandering botanist gathering specimens 

 where the bog tails off into land dry enough to be 

 examined in a pair of good boots, half a mile away. 

 The reed bunting pays no heed to either man or bird, 

 they are both too far off for consideration, but flying 

 from a diminutive birch tree to a dead pine and back 

 again uneasily several times, circles round me, alights 

 on the little bunch of reeds by the marsh for a final 

 survey, and then drops out of sight. His nest, contain- 

 ing a family of five lusty chicks, is easily located. This 

 bird proved to be not only a devoted father, but a duti- 

 ful husband. If his mate turned lens-shy or remained 

 away from home for any length of time, he always 

 showed the most wonderful solicitation for the welfare 

 of his offspring, hopping round the nest and finally 

 sitting down to cover the chicks and keep them warm. 



Walking over the crown of " the island," which 

 supports a moderate growth of pines and birches of all 



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