That little
sweetness was enough to set us all digging the bulbs up with table
knives, but even little children can value things for their beauty as
well as taste. The _macachina_ was like the wood-sorrel in shape, both
flower and leaf, but the leaves were much smaller and grew close to
the ground, as the plant flourished most where the grass was close-
cropped by the sheep, forming a smooth turf like that of our chalk
downs. The flowers were never crowded together like the buttercup,
forming sheets of shining yellow, but grew two or three inches apart,
each slender stem producing a single flower, which stood a couple of
inches above the turf. So fine were the stems that the slightest
breath of wind would set the blossoms swaying, and it was then a
pretty sight, and often held me motionless in the midst of some green
place, when all around me for hundreds of yards the green carpet of
grass was abundantly sprinkled with thousands of the little yellow
blossoms all swaying to the light wind.
These green level lands were also a favourite haunt of the golden
plover on their first arrival in September from their breeding-places
many thousands of miles away in the arctic regions. Later in the
season, as the water dried up, they would go elsewhere. They came in
flocks and were then greatly esteemed as a table-bird, especially by
my father, but we could only have them when one of my elder brothers,
who was the sportsman of the family, went out to shoot them.
Pages:
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205