DECEMBER 245 



roosting-place. There is a peculiar beauty about the 

 eyes of this bird, with their irides of brilliant and 

 luminous yellow. 



As we near the borders of the moorland tarn, a Heron 

 raises his long neck, stands at attention, then, un- 

 folding ample pinions, takes to flight. The night 

 frosts have crisped the shallows with a coating of ice 

 just strong enough to bear the weight of the Wild 

 Ducks, green-headed ruddy-breasted drakes and their 

 more sober-coloured mates, which stand upon it, some 

 preening, others apparently asleep with their bills 

 tucked under their wing-coverts. Now every head is 

 raised, and the next moment the whole flock starts up 

 with whistling wings and vociferous quacking, and, 

 dividing into parties, keeps passing and repassing 

 overhead, clearly outlined against the sunset sky. 

 A bunch of Teal follows, but these smaller wild-fowl 

 have a different flight. They twist about like a flock 

 of dunlin, turn quick as a flash and soon pitch again 

 into cover. We have known a whole flock of wild 

 swans, forty-two of them, to alight upon one of these 

 moorland pools and to remain for some weeks. A pair 

 of tame swans easily put the whole party to rout, and 

 it was a fine sight as they rose one by one, each 

 beginning to give tongue as it left the water. But the 

 short twilight fades, and visions of a blazing hearth 

 outweigh the doubtful attractions of the darkening 

 moor. 



