BIRDS IN A VILLAGE 157 



the greenfinches in the village elms and hedge- 

 rows, if by chance a few sparrows burst out in 

 loud gratulatory notes, the sounds they emitted 

 appeared coarse, and I wished the chirrupers 

 away. But with the true and brilliant songsters 

 it seemed to me that the rippling greenfinch music 

 was always in harmony, forming as it were a kind 

 of airy, subdued accomDaniment to their loud and 

 ringing tones. 



I had had my nightingale days, my cuckoo and 

 blackbird and tree-pipit days, with others too 

 numerous to mention, and now I was having my 

 greenfinch days; and these were the last. 



One morning in July I was in my sitting-room, 

 when in the hedge on the other side of the lane, 

 just opposite my window, a small brown bird 

 warbled a few rich notes, the prelude to his song. 

 I went and stood by the open window, intently 

 listening, when it sang again, but only a phrase 

 or two. But I listened still, confidently expecting 

 more ; for although it was now long past its sing- 

 ing season, that splendid sunshine would compel 

 it to express its gladness. Then, just when a 

 fresh burst of music came, it was disturbed by 

 another sound close by — a human voice, also sing- 



