CHAPTER XXIII.
CORONA'S BIRTHDAY.
The May-fly season had come around again, and Corona was spending her Saturday--the Greycoats' holiday--with Brother Copas by the banks of Mere.

They had brought their frugal luncheon in the creel which was to contain the trout Brother Copas hoped to catch.

He hoped to catch a brace at least--one for his sick friend at home, the other to replenish his own empty cupboard: for this excursion meant his missing to attend at the kitchen and receive his daily dole.
There may have been thunder in the air.

At any rate the fish refused to feed; and after an hour's patient waiting for sign of a rise-- without which his angling would be but idle pains--Brother Copas found a seat, and pulled out a book from his pocket, while Corona wandered over the meadows in search of larks' nests.

But this again was pains thrown away; since, as Brother Copas afterwards explained, in the first place the buttercups hid them, and, secondly, the nests were not there!--the birds preferring the high chalky downs for their nurseries.