( 231 ) 



OUTSIDE LONDON. 



There was something dark on the grass under an 

 elm in the field by the barn. It rose and fell; and 

 we saw that it was a wing — a single black wing, 

 striking the ground instead of the air; indeed, it 

 seemed to come out of the earth itself, the body of 

 the bird being hidden by the grass. This black wing 

 flapped and flapped, but could not lift itself — a single 

 wing of course could not fly. A rook had dropped 

 out of the elm and was lying helpless at the foot of 

 the tree — it is a favourite tree with rooks ; they build 

 in it, and at that moment there were twenty or more 

 perched aloft, cawing and conversing comfortably, 

 without the least thought of their dying comrade. 

 Not one of all the number descended to see what was 

 the matter, nor even fluttered half-way down. This 

 elm is their clubhouse, where they meet every after- 

 noon as the sun gets low to discuss the scandals of 

 the day, before retiring to roost in the avenues and 

 tree-groups of the park ^adjacent. While we looked, 

 a peacock came round the corner of the barn ; he 

 had caught sight of the flapping wing, and approached 



