FROM SPRING TO FALL. 



the metal is so highly polished. The pigeons are 

 on the old roof, cooing and sunning themselves, 

 two things that they delight in. Then the pigs 

 are stretched out on their sides, grunting now and 

 again in sheer delight ; for there is nothing that 

 they like better than a sun-bath. The old sheep- 

 dog lies in front of the kitchen-door with his head 

 on his forepaws, apparently asleep ; but one at 

 least of his eyes is open — for as a trusted and 

 faithful four-footed servant, he knows he may soon 

 look for the scraps from the dinner-table. 



Some fowls are busily scratching and pecking 

 along the bank that divides the meadow they run 

 in from one of the home-covers ; whilst their 

 neighbours, the ducks, are fast asleep on the 

 water of their pond, after feeding well. 



All at once something goes wrong with one of 

 them, a game-hen, that had just done duty as foster- 

 mother to some young pheasants. We hear carke- 

 car-cluck-cur-ure-cark-er-cluck-carke-r — ! the cry of 

 a throttled fowl : something has dragged that un- 

 fortunate bird up the bank and through the hedge. 

 The game-rooster, at the first cry of alarm, comes 

 rushing at top speed, shrieking with rage, to protect 



