At Home with Wild Nature 



a stonechat's nest with chicks in it and try your hand 

 at photographing the old cock delivering his catch of 

 moths. He will astonish you, even if you have visited 

 the United States of America and snatched your midday 

 meal in Broadway, New York, every day for a twelve- 

 month. 



Wandering one hot afternoon from a lonesome 

 valley of small ponds and marshland, where the wild 

 duck, curlew, peewit and snipe all breed, my wife and 

 I sat down on a sandy hilltop to rest and watch the 

 cunning antics of a pair of wheatears anxious to prevent 

 us from discovering the whereabouts of their nest in a 

 rabbit's old breeding " stop." Suddenly we were gal- 

 vanized into action by the silvery cadences of a wood- 

 lark's song trickling down from the ethereal blue far, 

 far overhead. Although a mere speck my field-glasses 

 revealed him climbing heavenwards in wide circles as he 

 drifted slowly down wind towards a birch wood. 



We followed in his direction, but never another sign 

 or sound was vouchsafed unto us. A week later, how- 

 ever, we renewed our search and were rewarded. There 

 we beheld him standing right on the top of an old oak 

 growing in the birch wood, uttering his low, sweet, 

 soothing call notes. He was waiting for his mate. 

 Presently she joined him, and away they flew down 

 wind, side by side like a pair of carriage horses, straight 

 over a belt of timber and disappeared in the dim and 

 misty distance as if bent upon leaving the county 

 altogether. 



In less than half an hour they returned with the 



132 



