148 
NATURE NOTES 
wild folk, clad in fur, feather and scale. Grey rabbits spring 
through the thorns, to whisk down dark holes, leaving me 
wishing I was small enough to follow. Then, as I walk on 
slowl}^, stopping every instant to look at a fresh wonder, a robin 
suddenly darts out in my face and discloses her nest — such an 
exquisite nest, hollowed out deep in the warm moss and so care- 
fully lined with hair. I should have thought the moss would 
have been softer for the baby birds myself, but of course I am 
no authority to pass an opinion on such matters, and doubtless 
Mother Robin knew what she was about and had a good reason. 
Poor little thing, she is in such an agony of fear for the safety of 
those four mottled eggs. I pass on and leave her in peace — may 
that nest be preserved from schoolboys’ eyes ! 
Further on I meet a willow warbler ; she is only just thinking 
about building her nursery, and is greatly excited, consequently 
most bold, not to say impertinent. You may object there are no 
willows in the lane. No matter! The willow-warbler is there. 
Where is she not ? This particular member of her kind, I say, 
is just thinking about building her nursery, having travelled all 
the way from Africa for that purpose. She has found a feather, 
an ordinary downy feather from a hen’s breast, but she is very 
proud of it. Her elation is most amusing. She evidently 
desires her mate to congratulate her upon her discovery, for she 
darts into his solitary hiding place at least a dozen times to 
display it to him. He is tranquilly singing for his own benefit 
and that of any one who chooses to listen, and probably does 
not wish to be disturbed upon household matters, for his wife 
seems to find him unsympathetic. Alighting upon a branch 
over my head she exhibits her treasure to me for want o-f some- 
one better. Leaning down upon her perch she gaily twirls the 
feather and chirps in her throat. “ Isn’t it pretty? ” her bright 
eyes seem to say, “ but you don’t know where I’m going to put 
it.” As a matter of fact I do know, quite well, because she 
cannot resist flying backwards and forwards over the chosen 
site, although, thinking herself very cunning, she will not go in 
until I am lost to view. 
My lane winds up a hill and, turning a sharp corner, I 
suddenly come upon a pool by the wayside. A little rill trickling 
down the steep slope feeds it, and its superfluous water creeps 
through a tunnel in the bank to lose itself in a field of young 
corn. This is a most interesting pool. A big stone guards its 
mouth, over which the united raindrops, trying to look like a 
stream, tumble, gaily splashing in the basin their efforts have 
formed. They bubble indignantly when I bar their passage 
with my hand, but quickly, running on either side of the 
obstacle, continue their journey. Where they first reach the 
hard shining stone aforementioned, they have hollowed out for 
themselves a resting-place, and two deep grooves mark the 
remainder of their way. After all, they have reason to be proud. 
Moss, bearing liquid diamonds, overhangs the pool, clinging 
