Flaunt of the Butterfites. 207 
certainly rain, according to the old superstition. The 
‘blackbird, when he picks up one of the larger beetles, 
holds it with its back towards him in his bill, so that 
the legs claw helplessly at the air, and thus carries 
it to a spot where he can pick it to pieces at his 
leisure. 
The ha-ha wall of the orchard is the favourite 
haunt of butterflies; they seem to love its sunny 
aspect, and often cling to the loose stones like orna- 
ments attached by some cunning artist. Sulphur 
butterflies hover here early in the spring, and later on 
white and brown and tiny blue butterflies pass this 
way, calling ex route. Sometimes a great noble of 
the butterfly world comes in all the glory of his wide 
velvety wings, and deigns to pause awhile that his 
beauty may be seen. 
Somewhere within doors, in the huge beams or 
woodwork, the death-tick is sure to be heard in the 
silence of the night: even now the old folk listen with 
a lingering dread. Give the woodwork a smart tap, 
and the insect stops a few moments, but it rapidly 
gets accustomed to such taps, and after a few ceases 
to take notice of them. This manner of building 
houses with great beams visibly supporting the ceiling, 
passing across the room underneath it, had one 
advantage. On a rainy day the children could go 
into the garrets or the cheese-loft and there form a 
swing, attaching the ropes to the hooks in the beam 
across the ceiling. 
