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. As a very
small boy I was not allowed to use a gun, but as I had been taught to
throw the _bolas_ by the little native boys I sometimes associated
with, I thought I might be able to procure a few of the birds with it.
The _bolas_, used for such an object, is a string a couple of yards
long, made from fine threads cut from a colt's hide, twisted or
braided, and a leaden ball at each end, one being the size of a hen's
egg, the other less than half the size. The small ball is held in the
hand, the other swung round three or four times and the _bolas_ then
launched at the animal or bird one wishes to capture.
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