Hedgerow Tales [antikvár]

Rabbity Ways The night had been very dark, for there was no moon. Now there was a grey Ught creeping into the eastern sky. Daybreak was near. Soon the owls would go home and the bats would fly back to the old barn to sleep. The old oak-tree that grew out of the hedgerow rustled its leaves in the chilly wind. It was a wise old tree, friendly to all creatures, and loved by a great many. The hedgerow was old, too. In it grew hawthorn, whose leaves were out early in the spring-time, green fingers held up to the sun. Bramble sprays flung long arms here and there, as prickly as the wild rose that forced its way up to the sun. Ivy covered one part of the hedge, and here, in blossom-time, feasted the last late flies and many beautiful red admirals. Below was a sunny bank, for the hedgerow faced south. In summer-time the birds found sweet wild strawberries on this bank, and the primroses sometimes flowered there in the early days of January. In the ditch below there was