nches; in the middle rather less than half as much. The
grey central piece, larger and darker at either end, suggested the
thought of the bare neck of a vulture.

Far away, just rising above the slope of the leaze, the distant tops of
elms, crowded with rooks' nests (not then occupied), showed the site of
the residence of an old gentleman of whom at that time we stood in much
fear. The 'Squire' of Southlands alarmed even the hardened carters' lads
as much by the prestige of a singular character as by the chastisement
he personally gave those who ventured into his domain. Not a bird's
nest, not a nut, must be touched: still less anything that could be
called game. The watch kept was so much the stricter because he took a
personal part in it, and was often round the fields himself armed with a
great oak staff. It seemed, indeed, as if the preservation of the game
was of far greater importance to him than the shooting of it afterwards.
All the fowls of the air flocked to Southlands, as if it had been a
refuge; yet it was not a large estate. Into the forest we had been, but
Southlands was a mystery, a forbidden garden of delight, with the terror
of an oaken staff (and unknown penalties) turning this way and that.
Therefore the stunted old oak on the verge--the moss-grown merestone by
the pond marked the limit--was so favourite a perching-place.

That beautiful afternoon I leaned both arms idly on the great bough that
crossed in front of the seat and listened to the 'Caw--caw!' of the
rooks as they looked to see if the acorns were yet ripening. A dead
branch that had dropped partly into the brook was swayed continually up
and down by the current, the water as it chafed against it causing a
delicious murmur. This lulled me to sleep.

I woke with a start, and had it not been for the bough crossing in front
must have fallen twenty feet. Looking down into the meadow as soon as my
eyes were thoroughly open, I instantly noticed a covey of young
partridges a little way up beside the hedge among the molehills. The
neighbourhood of those hillocks has an attraction for many birds,
especially in winter. Then fieldfares, redwings, starlings, and others
prefer the meadows that are dotted with them. In a frost if you see a
thrush on a molehill it is very likely to thaw shortly. Moles seem to
feel the least change in the temperature of the earth; if it slackens
they begin to labour, and cast up, unwittingly, food for the thrushes.

It w