s tankards.' The flat-shaped bells hung on
a sheep's neck are called tankards; and Hilary could distinguish one
flock from another by the varying notes of their bells.

Reclining on the sweet short sward under the hawthorn on the Down I
looked over the Idover plain, and thought of the olden times. As I
gazed I presently observed, far away beside some ricks, the short
black funnel of an engine, and made it out to be a steam-plough
waiting till the corn should be garnered to tear up the stubble. How
much meaning there lay in the presence of that black funnel! There
were the same broad open fields, the same beautiful crops of golden
wheat, the same green hills, and the same sun ripening the grain. But
how strangely changed all human affairs since old Jonathan, in his
straight-made shoes, with his pike-staff, and the acorns in his
pocket, trudged along the footpaths!

CHAPTER VII.

THE CUCKOO-FIELDS.

The cuckoos came so frequently to some grass-land just outside the
Chace and sloping down to the brook that I gave the spot the name of
the Cuckoo-fields. There were two detached copses in them of no great
extent, and numerous oaks and hawthorns, while the brook below was
bordered with willow-stoles. This stretch of grass was divided into
two large fields by a line of decaying posts and rails, and it became
a favourite resort of mine in the warm days of spring, because I could
almost always see and hear the cuckoos there.

Why they should love it so much is not easy to tell, unless on account
of the comparatively barren character of the soil. The earth seemed to
be of a very different kind to that in the rich and fertile meadows
and fields close by; for the grass was rough, short, and thin, and
soon became greyish or brown as the summer advanced, burning or drying
up under the sun. It may often be observed that a piece of waste, like
furze, when in the midst of good land, is much frequented by all birds
and animals, though where there is nothing else but waste they are
often almost entirely absent.

As the oaks come out into full leaf, the time when the meadows become
beautiful, the notes of the cuckoo sound like a voice crying 'Come
hither' from the trees. Then, sitting on the grey and lichen-covered
rail under the cover of a hawthorn, I saw sometimes two and sometimes
three cuckoos following each other courting, now round the copse, now
by the hedge or the brook, and presently along the rails where they
const