s, it would
be quite endless. I think I shall start at that place in the hedge in
the croft where we found the bumble-bee's nest. I should like to find a
mole-cricket, but I don't know if they live about here. Perhaps our soil
isn't light enough for them to make their tunnels in, but one ought to
find no end of curious burrowing creatures when one is on one's face,
besides grubs of moths to hatch afterwards. When I am on my back, I
fancy what I shall see most of are spiders. You can't conceive what a
lot of spiders there are in the world, all sorts and sizes. They are
divided into hunters, wanderers, weavers, and swimmers. I expect you'll
see some queer ones, if you go to hot places. And oh, Jack! talking of
burrows, of course you're in Nova Scotia, and that's where Cape Sable
is, where the stormy petrels make their houses in the sand. They are
what sailors call Mother Carey's chickens, you know. I'm sure we've read
about them in adventure books; they always come with storms, and sailors
think they build their nests on the wave. But they don't, Jack, so _you_
mustn't think so. They make burrows in the sand, and all day they are
out on the wing, picking up what the storms toss to the top, and what
the cooks throw overboard, and then they go home, miles and miles and
miles at night, and feed their young. They don't take the trouble to
make houses if they can find any old rabbit-burrows near enough to the
sea, Mr. Wood says; like the puffins. Do you know, one evening when old
Isaac came to see me, I made him laugh about the puffins till the tears
ran down his face. It was with showing him that old stuffed puffin, and
telling him how the puffin gets into a rabbit-burrow, and when the
rabbit comes back they set to and fight, and the puffin generally gets
the best of it with having such a great hooked nose. Isaac _was_ so
funny. He said he'd seen the rabbits out on the spree many and many a
moonlight night when sober folks were in bed; and then he smacked his
knees and said, 'But I'd give owt to see one on 'em just nip home and
find a Pooffin upon t' hearthstun.' And, my dear Jack, who else has been
to see me, do you think? Fancy! Lorraine! You remember our hearing the
poor Colonel was dead, and had left Lorraine all that he had? Well, do
you know it is a great deal more than we thought. I mean he's got a
regular estate and a big house with old pictures inside, and old trees
outside. Quite a swell. Poor Lorraine! I don't mean p