Field and Hedgerow: Being the Last Essays of Richard JefferiesJefferies, Richard
History
Field and Hedgerow: Being the Last Essays of Richard Jefferies
Jefferies, Richard
England -- Description and travel; Natural history
He crossed several paths leading in various directions, but went on,
gradually descending till the gable end of a farmhouse became visible
through the foliage. The old red tiles were but a few yards distant from
the boughs of the last beech, and there was nothing between the house and
the forest but a shallow trench almost filled with dead brown leaves and
edged with fern. Out from that trench, sometimes stealthily slipping
between the flattened fern-stalks, came a weasel, and, running through
the plantains and fringe-like mayweed or stray pimpernel which covered
the neglected ground, made for the straw-rick. Searching about for mice,
he was certain to come across a hen's egg in some corner, perhaps in a
hay-crib, which the cattle, now being in the meadow, did not use. Or a
stronger stoat crept out and attacked anything that he fancied. Very
often there was a rabbit sitting in the long grass which grows round
under an old hay-rick. He would sit still and let anyone pass who did not
know of his presence, but those who were aware used to give the grass a
kick if they went that way, when he would carry his white tail swiftly
round the corner of the rick. In winter hares came nibbling at everything
in the garden, and occasionally in summer, if they fancied an herb: they
would have spoiled it altogether if free to stay there without fear of
some one suddenly appearing.
Dogs there were in plenty, but all chained, except a few mere puppies
which practically lived indoors. It was not safe to have them loose so
near the wood, the temptation to wander being so very strong. So that,
though there was a continual barking and long, mournful whines for
liberty, the wild creatures came in time to understand that there was
little danger, and the rabbit actually sat under the hay-rick.
Pheasants mingled with the fowls, and, like the fowls, only ran aside out
of the way of people. In early summer there were tiny partridge chicks
about, which rushed under the coop. The pheasants sometimes came down to
the kitchen door, so greedy were they. With the dogs and ponies, the
pheasants and rabbits, the weasels and the stoats, and the ferrets in
their hutches, the place seemed really to belong more to the animals than
to the tenant.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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