"That's no help," said Frank, giving the swan a sharp poke with the oar. Jimmy scrambled into the boat, and the swan, satisfied that they were in full retreat, gave up the pursuit.
They went back to the yacht, where Jimmy changed his clothes, and then went on to the broad by the proper channel.
Their object in visiting this broad was to find the nest of the bearded tit, which Bell had told them bred there in great numbers. This beautiful little bird is now becoming very rare. Its home is among the reed-beds of Norfolk and Suffolk, but it has been so shot down wholesale by bird-stuffers, and its eggs collected for sale, that it has become exceedingly rare. It is a very pretty bird, having a long tail, fawn-coloured back, and white belly, but its distinguishing feature is that it has a pair of moustaches in the shape of black tufts of feathers depending from either side of its mouth. Very properly, too, it is only the males which have this appearance. In Norfolk it is called the reed pheasant. It is very interesting to see a flock of them flitting about the reeds. Like all the tit family, they are very lively, jerking up and down the reed-stems in all sorts of positions, and as often as not with their heads down and their tails up.
Apart from the open water of the broad, there were numerous channels among the reeds which latter rose to the height of seven or eight feet above the water. Along these channels the boys made their way, listening attentively to the chirping of the birds, which they could hear but not see. By keeping very still they could at length distinguish two or three of the birds they sought, flitting about the reeds, and by the aid of their glass they could perceive the birds with great distinctness. The movements of one bird led them to its nest, and pushing their way with some difficulty they were fortunate enough to find it. It was built of dry stems of grass and sedges, and was placed about a foot from the ground (or water, for it was a compound of both), in the midst of a thick clump of reeds. It contained five eggs as large as those of a great tit, pinkish-white in colour, spotted and streaked with reddish brown, something like those of a yellow-hammer. While they were debating how many of the eggs they should take, Frank saw a tit fly from a tuft of reeds a few yards off, and on going there they found another nest with four eggs in it. This was lucky, for it enabled them to take two eggs from each nest without feeling any compunction.
Cuckoo and Egg.
They found several of the beautiful purse-like nests of the reed wrens attached midway up the tall reed-stems. In one of them there was a young cuckoo, the sole occupant of the nest. What had become of the little reed-wrens was plainly to be seen by the bodies which strewed the ground beneath. The poor little fledglings had been ousted from their home by the broad-backed cuckoo. I suppose we ought not to call him cruel, because it is the instinct of self-preservation which makes him behave so badly. If the young birds, the legitimate owners of the nest, had been allowed to remain, the old birds could not have fed them all, and the young cuckoo must have starved. The boys watched the nest for some time to see the old birds feed it, and they were greatly delighted to see the way in which the reed-wrens managed it. They perched on the young cuckoo's back while they placed the food in its broad mouth. It was the only standing room there was, for the cuckoo more than covered the whole of the nest.
"Who wouldn't be a naturalist!" said Frank, "when he can see such things as that?"
Dick replied, "I did not know that life could possibly be so jolly, until I learnt something of natural history. I do wonder that so few fellows take to it. I suppose it is because books make it appear so dry. Books don't seem to me to go into the sport of the thing. They only show you the surface of it, and not the life. I will try to write a book some day when—" and he hesitated.