Scraps of feather flying about
Meanwhile it was getting dark, and more extraordinary noises were to be heard,—more than ever. The Nooper Swans and the Brent Geese, and other mysterious families whom Robin did not know, were calling overhead continually, and there was a constant boom-boom-boom going on among the reed-beds. Robin was a trifle scary and nervous now; this ramble had had so many adventures in it. But still he was eaten up by curiosity, and he tried to explore the reed-bed where the boom-boom was. And he pushed his way between the roots of the bulrushes, and flew a little here and there, while the sunset gradually faded out of the sky, until he came to a most wonderful place.
The Brent Geese were calling overhead
But Bill the Weasel was just behind him: and Hob the Marsh Harrier was above him in mid-air.
This place was all fenced round with tall bulrushes, and inside you could see a green marshy spot, with cuckoo flowers and king-cups growing, and Somebody was booming there all alone. Then a beautiful fairy person who was the Water-Lady slid down a bulrush and said, "You musn't go in there: trespassers will be prosecuted. No admittance except on business. That's the law of the broad."
"Why not?" said Robin. "Whose place is it?"
