WILD LIFE ON THE WING 
louder clap of thunder. This time Cearc-uise 
did not shriek, but only ran the faster. She 
hurried on so far ahead that she lost the chick 
altogether, and was obliged to return for him. 
He sat crying under a cowslip, because he had 
never walked so far in his life and was already 
tired. This would never do. They were not 
yet half-way to the river. Cearc-uise roused 
him at once and made him follow her. By 
the lightning they saw the grasses stand out 
limply against the bluish sky. Beside the 
babble of the river, which seemed as though 
chuckling at the thought of the coming 
freshet, the only sound between the thunder- 
rolls was the voice of the moorhen's cousin, 
Garra-gurt the Corncrake, who rasped his name 
aloud, unmoved by the tumult overhead. He 
glided before them as they went, and though 
his voice sounded now to the left and then to 
the right, they felt the grassblades close up 
just ahead of them as he passed. 
The first rain fell before they came to the first 
hedge. It fell in drops as big as sloes on to 
the baked ground ; and the grassblades, over- 
weighted, drooped this way and that, until 
Cearc-uise could scarcely force a way through 
them, and the chick would have given up in 
despair if she had not returned to help him. 
At last they came to the hedge, and already a 
36 
