They cannot rest--now one flits from the topmost bough of an elm to another topmost bough; now a second comes up from feeding, and cries from the branches.

They are tree-pipits; and though the call is monotonous, yet it is so cheerful and pleasing that one cannot choose but stay and listen.
Suddenly, two that have been vigorously calling start forward together and meet in mid-air.

They buffet each other with their wings; their little beaks fiercely strike; their necks are extended; they manoeuvre round each other, trying for an advantage.

They descend, heedless in the rage of their tiny hearts, within a few yards of the watcher, and then in alarm separate.

But one flies to the oak branch and defiantly calls immediately.
Over the meadows comes the distant note of the cuckoo.