164 NATURE AND WOODCRAFT. 



nights after the green and yellow catkins 

 all dropped from the hazels. They fell upon 

 the dead leaves, and, raking away these, buried 

 everywhere beneath them were last year's 

 brown nuts. In the larger end of these was a 

 hole, regular as though drilled with a wimble. 

 The sweet kernel had been extracted by one of 

 my woodsy friends — which I am not quite sure, 

 though I will detect him next autumn. 



The companions of my woodland haunts 

 are the Nuthatch, Dormouse, Wood-mouse, 

 and Squirrel. A sackful of empty shells might 

 have been counted within a few yards of 

 where I stood, so thickly were they strewn 

 about. But this bright spring day had 

 nothing to do with the empty past, and every- 

 thing seemed opening to the warmth of the 

 returning sun. 



A month later, when the catkins had de- 

 cayed, the tree had another glory — it was 

 clothed in bright green leaves. The buds might 

 have been seen unfolding to the light, until 

 their tender colour kissed all the woods. The 

 floor of the copse had only a thin layer of soil, 

 but the sun warmed it, and a carpet of blue 

 bells reflected the azure of the sky. A breadth 



