Molly muttered something, as if to herself, but the squire might have
heard it if he had chosen. As it was, he wisely turned the current of
the conversation.

'Look at that!' he said, as they suddenly came upon the mere, or large
pond. There was a small island in the middle of the glassy water, on
which grew tall trees, dark Scotch firs in the centre, silvery
shimmering willows close to the water's edge. 'We must get you punted
over there, some of these days. I'm not fond of using the boat at this
time of the year, because the young birds are still in the nests among
the reeds and water-plants; but we'll go. There are coots and grebes.'

'Oh, look, there's a swan!'

'Yes; there are two pair of them here. And in those trees there is both
a rookery and a heronry; the herons ought to be here by now, for
they're off to the sea in August, but I have not seen one yet. Stay! is
not that one--that fellow on a stone, with his long neck bent down,
looking into the water?'

'Yes! I think so. I have never seen a heron, only pictures of them.'

'They and the rooks are always at war, which does not do for such near
neighbours. If both herons leave the nest they are building, the rooks
come and tear it to pieces; and once Roger showed me a long straggling
fellow of a heron, with a flight of rooks after him, with no friendly
purpose in their minds, I'll be bound. Roger knows a deal of natural
history, and finds out queer things sometimes. He would have been off a
dozen times during this walk of ours, if he'd been here; his eyes are
always wandering about, and see twenty things where I only see one.