From Fox's Earth 



The hen keeps bobbing, nodding its head, and 

 twitching its white tail feathers ; all the while 

 addressing me in a low impatient chuckle. When 

 I approach, it runs along the water weeds as a 

 swifter way than swimming. Finally, it follows 

 to see that I am really going. I can see its red 

 beak round the white willow. The cock is in- 

 visible ; but, from sounds, I know that he aids 

 and abets. 



The crisp bite across the grass stem tells a 

 water vole at his evening meal. From the bare- 

 ness round about, he has been busy for some 

 time ; now he attacks the pillar of a nodding 

 panicle, as a beaver might the bole of a tree. 



The bank is tunnelled with holes, in little 

 groups, after some plan. The typical number is 

 three. The centre bore goes straight in. From 

 it diverge two runs, one on either side, which 

 open on to the bank, and are of the nature of 

 escape or bolt holes. Beyond the forking is a 

 blind end. The arrangement may be different, 

 or the number greater. A secret entrance opens 

 under the water, when it might be inconvenient 

 to rise to the surface ; a hole in the top of the 

 bank gives egress to the fields. 



Further up, a second nibbles the mimulus 

 leaves, o'ercanopied by the great yellow blos- 

 soms, with the spotted throats. Still another sits 

 amid the white flowers of the pungent watercress. 

 Overhead is a wild rose. The whin-covered 



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