52 THE ROOK 



company during February to inspect the colony of breed- 

 ing nests which he regards as his peculiar domain, going 

 back as night approaches to his sleeping-place until all 

 is ready for the family life to begin. Rookeries vary, of 

 course, greatly in size; one may be as a city or large 

 town, again there will be a village, and here and there a 

 small hamlet. There are in my own fields one of about 

 a hundred and thirty nests, one of sixty, one of eight, 

 and another of four nests. Of these latter I have some 

 views of my own. I believe them to be those of odd and 

 outlawed individuals who follow the other companies 

 hither, but are socially' considered as pariahs. My 

 nearest neighbours are those of the sixty-two-nest village, 

 and my last census-taking records about sixty-two 

 married couples and thirty-six or more odd or unmated 

 birds. These are all, of course, adult birds, their num- 

 bers reckoned before the young were hatched out. 



The odd birds may some of them be outlaws, as I said 

 before, but the majority of them are not vagabonds by 

 any means. They only happen to belong to that 

 numerous enough class amongst humans those who 

 have been forced by some just cause or impediment into 

 a life of celibacy. As the rook does not mate until it is 

 nearly two years old, a number of the single birds are, 

 therefore, simply lusty young bachelors. The few 

 individuals whom I sum tip as ne'er-do-weels or unfortu- 

 nates I know personally three of these at the present 

 moment are to be recognised by the shabby, neglected, 

 and generally unkempt appearance of their plumage, 

 and some other of the many outward signs of a past 

 henpecked existence. I am ignorant of the life history 

 of these; perhaps if we knew all about them we should 

 look upon them as objects of pity rather than of reproach. 



