To Mountain Tarn 



lent a sufficient amount of stability. It was 

 mainly balance, and needed the eye of an engineer. 

 At the sound of a footstep the sitter slipped out, 

 and passed up the ditch like a shadow. Such 

 care was there for the safety of the eggs ; such 

 prescience for the future of the species. The 

 sentiment deepened, the idyli of the lane became 

 graver. 



Hard by in a whin bush, was the nest of a rose 

 linnet. The rose is on the male's breast. More 

 fitly is the hen known as the grey linnet. She 

 sat so very, very quietly, that no passing country 

 lad could have told she was there. In the grey 

 of the bush she was hard, indeed, to make out, 

 with her feathers puffed out to keep her charge 

 warm, and her grey head turned a little to one 

 side to command the intruder. 



The sitting had lasted a fortnight. With the 

 advent at hand, the care for self was at its 

 minimum ; that was why she remained with my 

 hand holding aside the prickles within two inches 

 of the nest. Only a vandal, with no regard for 

 the sacred care and deep joy of motherhood, 

 could have disturbed her. So the idyll begun 

 in semi-comedy with the mincing chaffinch, in- 

 creasing in interest with the drifting shadow down 

 the ditch came toward its charming and some- 

 what pathetic close in the brooding linnet. 



Not a detail, but has some suggestion. Nor 

 one that is altogether new. The boy is father to 



133 



