220 FIELD ANG’ HEDGEROW., 
THE MAKERS OF SUMMER. 
THE leaves are starting here and there from green buds 
on the hedge, but within doors a warm fire is still 
necessary, when one day there is a slight sound in the 
room, so peculiar, and yet so long forgotten, that though 
we know what it is, we have to look at the object before 
we can name it. It is a house-fly, woke up from his 
winter sleep, on his way across to the window-pane, 
where he will buzz feebly for a little while in the sun- 
shine, flourishing best like a hothouse plant under glass. 
By-and-by he takes a turn or two under the centre- 
piece, and finally settles on the ceiling. Then, one or 
two other little flies of a different species may be seen 
on the sash; and ina little while the spiders begin to 
work, and their round silky cocoons are discovered in 
warm corners of the woodwork. Spiders run about the 
floors and spin threads by the landing windows ; where 
there are webs it is certain the prey is about, though 
not perhaps noticed. Next, some one finds a moth. 
Poor moth! he has to suffer for being found out. 
As it grows dusk the bats flitter to and fro by the 
house; there are moths, then, abroad for them. Upon 
the cucumber frame in the sunshine perhaps there may 
be seen an ant or two, almost the first out of the nest; 
the frame is warm. There are flowers open, despite the 
cold wind and sunless sky ; and as these are fertilised 
by insects, it follows that there must be more winged 
