172 FROM SPRING TO FALL. 



under an old thick yew for shelter. Just above our 

 head, sheltered like ourselves from the rushing storm, 

 with his head on one side, looking at us, his feathers 

 bunched up, sits robin on the weep. As soon as we 

 can, we move and leave him to it. 



The yaffle is silent ; he has not the heart to shout. 

 Even the pheasant gives only a kind of half-hearted 

 crow when he tries to raise his voice. If there is 

 a lull, he, as well as the partridges, will make for 

 the highest ground they can find, near to their 

 haunts. As to the blackbirds and the thrushes, 

 they slip about the hedgerows in silence, evidently 

 depressed. 



The finches have gone somewhere — the green- 

 finches as well as the yellow-hammers — away from 

 the fields ; even the sparrows are not numerous. 

 Recently I walked sixteen miles through a wood- 

 land district without seeing a wood-pigeon. As this 

 is the flighting season, no doubt they have moved 

 to more congenial quarters for a time. Swallows 

 and martins have suffered terribly. I have seen 

 thick lines of them lately, sitting in a half-torpid 

 state wherever there was some slight protection 

 from the storms. 



