They are tree-pipits; and though the call is monotonous, yet
it is so cheerful and pleasing that one cannot choose but stay and
listen.
Suddenly, two that have been vigorously calling start forward together
and meet in mid-air. They buffet each other with their wings; their
little beaks fiercely strike; their necks are extended; they manoeuvre
round each other, trying for an advantage. They descend, heedless in the
rage of their tiny hearts, within a few yards of the watcher, and then
in alarm separate. But one flies to the oak branch and defiantly calls
immediately.
Over the meadows comes the distant note of the cuckoo. When he first
calls his voice is short and somewhat rough, but in a few days it gains
power. Then the second syllable has a mellow ring: and as he cries from
the tree, the note, swiftly repeated and echoed by the wood, dwells on
the ear something like the 'hum' or vibration of a beautiful bell.
As the hedges become green the ivy leaves turn brown at the edge and
fall; the wild ivy is often curiously variegated. At the foot of the
tree up which it climbs the leaves are five-angled, higher up they lose
the angles and become rounded, though growing on the same plant.
Sometimes they have a grey tint, especially those that trail along the
bank; sometimes the leaves are a reddish brown with pale green ribs.
By the brook now the meadow has become of a rich bright green, the
stream has sunk and is clear, and the sunlight dances on the ripples.
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