BIRDS IN A VILLAGE 71 



VII 



After the middle of June the common began to 

 attract me more and more. It was so extensive that, 

 standing on its border, just beyond the last straggling 

 cottages and orchards, the further side was seen only 

 as a line of blue trees, indistinct in the distance. As 

 I grew to know it better, adding each day to my 

 list from its varied bird life, the woods and waterside 

 were visited less and less frequently, and after the 

 bird-scaring noises began in the village, its wildness 

 and quiet became increasingly grateful. The silence 

 of nature was broken only by bird sounds, and the 

 most frequent sound was that of the yellow bunting, 

 as, perched motionless on the summit of a gorse 

 bush, his yellow head conspicuous at a considerable 

 distance, he emitted his thin monotonous chant at 

 regular intervals, like a painted toy-bird that sings 

 by machinery. There too, sedentary as an owl in 

 the daytime, the com bunting was common, dis- 

 charging his brief song at intervals — a sound as of 

 shattering glass. The whinchat was rarely seen, but 

 I constantly met the small, prettily-coloured stone- 

 chat flitting from bush to bush, following me and 

 never ceasing his low, querulous, tacking chirp, 

 anxious for the safety of his nest. Nightingales, 



