feet; teal sprang clear into the air, and, with sharp whistles, dodged as they flew at great speed; golden-eyes and pochards beat the water with their wings as they rose with more difficulty; but the bird of Slapton Ley, at any rate in early February, is the coot, the wigeon a good second.
Ringed plovers balanced on the wave-rounded stones on the ridge or paddled in the shallows of the Ley, and meadow pipits and pied wagtails swarmed everywhere, hunting successfully the winter flies which settled on the warm stones. Flocks of skylarks haunted the pebble ridge, and from these winter congregations odd birds ascended, filling the upper air with vernal song. At Slapton were no woodlarks, but small parties were on the cliffs elsewhere, feeding in scattered flocks like their open-country relatives; they, too, sing in winter and early spring, but those most in evidence were busy hunting, too busy to trouble about nuptial music.
Few human beings were visible alongside the two-mile lagoon, but one ancient reed-cutter was gathering the harvest. On the pebbles and reed stacks were stonechats, but beside the old man, seeking human companionship, was a robin, settling cheerfully upon the piles he had just cut and collected. The other birds shunned or ignored his presence; the robin enjoyed it.
