64 My Pond. 



wrens who built last year in the hedge just behind 

 where I now stand, afforded me no little amusement 

 and interest, they were so assiduous, and so fond of 

 stealing a moment to pour forth a few notes of song. 

 Some feathers they had no end of trouble in transport- 

 ing to their nest from right opposite the pond, which 

 they did not try to cross, but flew round. The wind 

 was against them, and was very apt, if the feather was 

 left for an instant for rest or relief, to blow it back 

 again. Finally, they doubtless sought and procured 

 the help of another pair, and the four managed by 

 their combined efforts to get it into the hedge properly. 

 I looked at that nest afterwards, and was surprised to 

 see how neatly the wren had covered it with leaves of 

 the beech hedge in which it was built, so that one 

 would have fancied it was a mere tuft of leaves gathered 

 there — a specimen of the protective instinct in nest- 

 building, which is most noticeable in those birds whose 

 eggs are of a colour which would be most easily 

 noticed. 



From this point of vantage, too, I have seen the 

 little robin redbreast on the walk that skirts the pond 

 perform wonders in carrying off to its young brood big 

 worms, which it took care to beat well with its beak — 

 devoting to this end some five or six minutes, and 

 then boldly carrying off the long heavy prize on its 

 bill. 



In the dozing heat of the summer afternoons a small 

 variety of the green dragon-fly will sometimes be found 

 in considerable numbers about the pond. Often they 

 fix themselves on the top of the float, and will stick 

 there until the float is moved with some decision. 

 I have often wondered what of attraction there 

 could be for those insects in the float, and would be 



