At last they reached the edge of the wood, into which Dick dashed with a leap and a bound, running his nose down amongst the dead leaves, and smelling an enemy in every bush, and at last giving chase to a squirrel which ran across the open to a great beech-tree, up which it scampered until it reached the forked boughs, where it sat with its tail curled up, looking tormentingly down upon his pursuer Dick, who rushed headlong at the tree, scrambled up a couple of feet, and then came down flop upon his back, without the squirrel of course; but he made up for it by running round and round the trunk, barking, baying, and snapping in impotent rage, while little nut-nibbler gave a sort of “skirr,” and then ran up the tree, leaped to the next, and the next, and disappeared in his hole far up the trunk of a great elm. Harry now took the lead down the narrow path that led into the wood, parting the tangled branches every now and then to get through, and all the time looking carefully round for nests. They very soon heard the harsh cry of the jay, who was letting all the inhabitants of the woodlands know that enemies were at hand, and away flew the birds. The blackbird was the first to take the alarm from the jay, and away he flew, crying, “Kink, kink, kink,” as he started from his nest in a great ivy tod on an old pollard-tree. The lads soon found the nest, and peeped in, but instead of eggs there were four wretched-looking little objects, all eyes and beak, with long, scraggy necks, wide throats, and naked bodies with little downy tufts upon them. All three had a peep, while Dick snapped his teeth together as though to say he would like to make a meal of one or all of them; but the callow brood was left unmolested for their yellow-billed parents to take care of, while Harry led the way to the fox’s cave. This, however, proved rather a disappointment to Fred, who had been picturing to himself a huge stalactite cavern, which they would require torches to explore, while the cave in question proved to be only a hole in the side of a gravelly ravine, big enough to creep in, certainly, but anything but majestic in appearance; while the probabilities were that a fox had never been in it since it was a hole. However, it was called the fox’s cave, and that was enough.
The waterfall was certainly better worthy of attention, for a tiny stream trickled over a huge mossy rock, and fell with a musical plash into a little rocky basin full of clear water; and all around it in the damp soil grew mosses and ferns of luxuriant size. It was just such a spot as the old poets used to write about—cool, and shaded from the heat and glare of the sun; but, instead of there being wood-nymphs and satyrs in the little dell, there was nothing but the three young visitors, and plenty of toads and frogs which crawled and hopped away as fast as ever they could.
“Oh, what a pretty place!” said Fred; “do let’s stop here. Look, look,” he exclaimed, “what’s that?” as, like a streak of blue light, a bird with rapid flight came down the dell, perched upon a bare twig just long enough for the boys to see his bright colours, and then, seeing himself watched, darted away again.
“That’s a kingfisher,” said Philip. “He’s got a nest here, somewhere, I know. Let’s look, for we must have some of the eggs, if we can. Perhaps the hen-bird is sitting somewhere close by.”
The boys then set to work searching the bushes of the little rivulet that flowed from the basin, and no doubt their search would have been in vain, but for the timid hen-bird, who flew out from the hole where, sure enough, she was sitting, and betrayed the place in which her nest had been made.
It was a hole in the overhanging bank, and Harry had little difficulty in thrusting his hand in and drawing out three eggs, which he carefully deposited in his pocket.
They then followed the course of the rivulet for about a quarter of a mile to where it emptied itself into the tarn or little lake of which Harry had spoken. It was indeed a dark tarn, with water looking almost black from its depth, which was said to be enormous, and here some gigantic eels were supposed to dwell, though nobody had ever caught, nobody had ever seen, and nobody ever heard of any being either seen or caught; but still eels of a mighty size were said to be in the tarn, and the reason for their not being caught was supposed to be the depth. As they came up to the lake, Dick ran on first and dashed into the reeds at the side, splashing and paddling about, and here and there taking to swimming. Just as he entered one great tuft of green reeds, rushes, and withes, there was an extra amount of splashing, and away flew, or rather ran along the surface of the water, a moorhen, with her thin attenuated toes just paddling the surface.
“Hooray,” said Harry, calling Dick off, “here’s a nest; moorhen’s eggs, boys, moorhen’s eggs!” and off he started to reach the nest; but here Master Harry was as badly off as when in the cedar-tree at home, for the moorhen had evidently intended to keep human visitors away, and Harry found that the coveted eggs, if any, were certainly not upon terra firma. Every step the lad took showed more plainly how treacherous was the surface round the tarn; for it was entirely composed of bog-moss—that pretty moss that turns of a creamy white, tinged with pink or salmon colour, when dried—and soon Master Harry could only progress by stepping daintily upon the little bunches of heath that grew amidst it, or upon the occasional tufts of last year’s dead reeds and rushes. But, light as the boy was, he soon found this mode of progression would not do, for, making a bound on to what looked a particularly dry spot, in he went up to his knees in the soft bog, and it was only with great difficulty that he scrambled out again to where his brother and Fred stood laughing and cheering him.
“I don’t care,” said Harry, shaking himself like a dog; “I don’t mind being wet, and, now I am wet, I mean to have the eggs.”
“No, don’t,” said Fred, “you’ll sink in.”