At Home with Wild Nature 



crowded spaces. As a rule, however, the former 

 chooses higher and drier ground than the latter. 



Basking one day on a peat bank, like a sand lizard 

 enjoying the lovely summer sunshine, and admiring the 

 peaceful, spacious view in front of me, my ear suddenly 

 caught the low sweet notes of a cock whinchat perched 

 on a tree-top fifty paces off. We were in full view of each 

 other, but as I was still and silent he did not appear to 

 mind me or my field-glasses. 



Presently his mate spoke in decisive notes, sounding 

 something like u-tack, u-tack, u-tack, and flying from 

 the top of a live baby pine rearing its tender head a foot 

 or two above the surrounding heather, to that of a dead 

 one killed and charred black on the outermost fringe 

 of last year's heath fire, thence to a neighbouring furze 

 bush and back again without resting, told me plainly 

 she had a nest near at hand. In less than half an hour 

 she dropped quietly into the heather and spoke no more. 



Making careful mental notes of the landmarks lying 

 between us, I followed them up and flushed her from a 

 particularly well-hidden nest containing six beautiful 

 greenish-blue eggs, slightly spotted on the larger end 

 with rusty brown. In order to show how thoroughly 

 she had concealed her home I fixed my camera up and 

 took two photographs exactly four feet away from the 

 eggs, one before a blade of grass or sprig of ling had 

 been touched and the other with the nest exposed. 



A week later the cock had ceased to sing, and was 

 helping his mate to find small, green caterpillars and 

 moths for their hungry offspring. As the long laborious 



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