43 FROM SPRING TO FALL. 



Then comes the chur — er — er — churr ! of the 

 heave-jar or fern-owl ; but this is only a prepar- 

 atory note or two from a bird of that species, 

 whom something has woke up from his sleep ear- 

 lier than usual. 



From the fields and meadows where they have 

 been feeding all through the day, occasionally going 

 to the sandy shallows of the trout-stream to bathe, 

 great flocks of linnets and sparrows and green-finches 

 whirl up into the trees to roost for the night. 



As the " dims " come on — the light that is, as 

 our folks say, "not one thing nor yet t'other" — 

 you will hear coming up from the moist meadows 

 below a sound of clicket, clicket, click, click, click- 

 click-click ; and as the sound or sounds get nearer 

 the clicks appear to run into each other, exactly 

 like the sounds made by a brown owl when he 

 is enraged; but, as the bird clashes over the road 

 clicking, you see that it is a moor-hen making all 

 the fuss. 



The sun has risen ; it rose a full hour ago ; early 

 morning in the summer woodlands it is. What do 

 we hear now, when all around is sparkling with 

 dewdrops, each one, as the sunlight catches it, a 



