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diff --git a/old/51601-h/51601-h.htm b/old/51601-h/51601-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..de9d276 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/51601-h/51601-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11118 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Between the Larch-woods and the Weir, by Flora Klickmann. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + .faux { + font-size: 0.5em; /*this font size could be anything */ + visibility: hidden;} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + text-indent: 1.25em; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + + + .maintitle {font-size: 200%; font-weight: bold; text-align: center; text-indent: 0;} + .author {font-size: 120%; text-align: center; text-indent: 0;} + .authorof {font-size: 70%; text-align: center; text-indent: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0;} + div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} + .sig {margin-right: 10%; text-align: right;} + + + img {border: 0;} + .tnote {border: dashed 1px; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; text-indent: 0;} + + .unindent {margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + text-indent: 0;} +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +hr.tb {width: 45%;} +hr.chap {width: 65%} +hr.full {width: 95%;} + +ul.booklist { list-style-type: none; margin-left: 15%; } + + +/* Poetry */ +.poetry-container +{ + text-align: center; +} + +.poetry +{ + display: inline-block; + text-align: left; +} + +.poetry .stanza +{ + margin: 1em auto; +} + +.poetry .verse +{ + text-indent: -3em; + padding-left: 3em; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; + text-indent: 0;} /* page numbers */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.center {text-align: center; text-indent: 0;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + + +@media handheld +{ + .chapter + { + page-break-before: always; + } + + h2.no-break + { + page-break-before: avoid; + padding-top: 0; + } + + .poetry + { + display: block; + margin-left: 1.5em; + } + +} + + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's Between the Larch-woods and the Weir, by Flora Klickmann + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + +Title: Between the Larch-woods and the Weir + +Author: Flora Klickmann + +Release Date: March 30, 2016 [EBook #51601] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BETWEEN LARCH-WOODS AND WEIR *** + + + + +Produced by Emmy, MFR and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + + + + + +</pre> + +<h1 class="faux">Between the Larch-woods and the Weir</h1> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 520px;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="520" height="800" alt="cover" /> +</div> +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> + +<div class="maintitle">Between the Larch-woods<br />and the Weir</div> + + +<hr class="chap" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a><br /><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p> + + + + + +<div class="maintitle">Between<br /> +the Larch-woods<br /> +and the Weir</div> + +<div class="center"><br /><br /> +By<br /> +<span class="author">FLORA KLICKMANN</span><br /> +<span class="authorof">Editor of<br /> +“The Girl’s Own Paper and Woman’s Magazine”<br /> +Author of<br /> +“The Flower-Patch among the Hills”</span><br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 167px;"> +<img src="images/emblem.jpg" width="167" height="218" alt="emblem" /> +</div> + +<div class="center"><br /><br /><br /> +<small>NEW YORK</small><br /> +Frederick A. Stokes Company<br /> +<small>Publishers</small><br /> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a><br /><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p> + + + + +<div class="center"> +<b>Dedicated to<br /> +the Memory<br /> +of Arthur,<br /> +Bertie, and<br /> +Wilfrid—my<br /> +Brothers</b><br /> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></p> + + + + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> +<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 3em;"><b>Move along these shades</b></span></div> +<div class="verse"><b>In gentleness of heart; . . .</b></div> +<div class="verse"><b>. . . for there is a spirit in the woods.</b></div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>I<br /> + +<small>Preamble</small></h2> + + +<p class="unindent"><span class="smcap">On</span> one of the high hills that border the river +Wye, there stands an old cottage, perched on an +outstanding bluff, with apparently no way of +approach save by airship.</p> + +<p>Looking up at it from the river bank by the +weir (the self-same weir beside which Wordsworth +sat when he wrote his famous “Lines”), +you can only glimpse the chimneys and angles +of the roof, so buried is the house in the trees +that clothe the hill-slopes to a height of nearly +nine hundred feet.</p> + +<p>The cottage is not quite at the top of the +hill; behind it rise still more woods, making +the steeps in early spring a mist of purple and +brown and soft grey bursting buds, followed by +pale shimmering green, with frequent splashes +of white when the hundreds of wild cherries +break into bloom.</p> + +<p>A darker green sweeps over all with the +oncoming of summer, which in turn becomes +crimson, lemon, rust-gold, bronze-green, copper +and orange in the autumn, where coppices of +birch and oak, ash and beech, wild cherry, crab +apple, yew and hazel intermingle with the stately<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> +ranks of the larch-woods that revel in the +heights, and give the hills a jagged edge against +the sky.</p> + +<p>The casual tourist who merely “does” the +Wye Valley—which invariably means scorching +along the one good road the district possesses, +skirting the foot of the hills—has a clever knack +of entirely missing, as a rule, the larch-woods and +the weir. Obviously, when any self-respecting +motorist finds himself on a fine road where he +can trundle along at thirty miles an hour (at the +least), with seldom any official let or hindrance, +he naturally shows his friends what his car can +do! And in such circumstances it is necessary +to keep the eyes glued to the half-mile straight +ahead. Even though the natives are too virtuous +to need the upkeep of many policemen, stray +cattle and slow-dragging timber-wains can be +quite as upsetting as a constable; while a landslide +down the hills may precipitate huge trees +across the road any day of the year, and prove +an equal hindrance.</p> + +<p>Hence, the motorist seldom seems to have +eyes to spare for anything but the road; he +takes as read the woods that climb the great +green walls towering far and yet farther above +him. And as for the many weirs he passes—who +could even hear them above the hustle of +a becomingly powerful car that is hoping to +boast how it covered the twenty-nine miles from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> +Chepstow to Ross in exactly thirty minutes! +Small wonder that such as these never see that +weather-worn cottage, half-hidden among the +green.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>But for those who are too poor, or too rich, +to need to bother about advertising their car—those +who can indulge in the luxury of walking +with no fear of losing social prestige—there +is, about that cottage, a world of eternal youth +that never grows old, a world that is for ever +offering new discoveries.</p> + +<p>And from the weir in the valley to the larch-woods +at the summit, curiously insistent voices +are calling. You have but to walk along the +river bank to hear them in the tumbling, swirling +waters as they pour over, and sweep around, the +boulders in the river bed. And although the +only living thing you may actually see is the +blue glint of a darting kingfisher, or a heron +standing sentinel on some mossed and water-splashed +rock, or a burnished swallow skimming +over the surface of the water, you know for a +certainty that there is more—much more—in the +murmur of the river and the clamour of the weir +than the ear can ever classify.</p> + +<p>Loud as it is when the tide is going down, it +is not noisy—for noise never soothes, whereas +this babbling of the waters is one of the most +restful sounds the tired mind can know.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></p> + +<p>When you leave the river, and take the path +that climbs up through the woods—the path +you have to search for, so overgrown is it with +nut bushes and bracken and low hanging branches +of the birches—another sense of mystery awaits +you. Though the way may get easier, and the +trail a little more defined, the higher you climb, +you feel you are penetrating a new land—that +you are the first ever to come this way.</p> + +<p>And that inexplicable lure of the unknown +seizes you; though you can see nothing ahead +of you but a steep rough footpath arched over +by the branches of the trees that hedge you +about on either side, you are conscious of “something” +beyond the croon of the ringdoves and the +scuttle of the rabbit. It comes to you in the +odour of last year’s dead leaves under the oaks; +in the pungent warm scent of the larches in the +sun. It greets you in the army of foxgloves +that have monopolized the one bit of open sky +space where a few trees were uprooted in a storm; +and in the tall clump of dark blue campanula +that has sprung up in another spot where a sun-shaft +falls; and in the regiments of wild daffodils +in a clearing that so far have escaped the trowel +of the spoiler.</p> + +<p>You sense it on an early Easter day, when +you pause half-way up, and look back on a vast +tracery of bare branches and twigs, pale grey +where the light strikes on them, and bursting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> +into smiles at intervals where the blackthorn +has come out.</p> + +<p>It speaks to you when you come upon the +smooth grey bark of the beeches, the beautifully +ribbed rind of the Spanish chestnut, and the +scaly, red trunks of the pines.</p> + +<p>You feel it at your feet when you see the +brown, uncurling fern fronds; and it pulls at +your heart when you step across a brook that +is quietly talking to itself, like a happy baby, +as it wanders downhill, unconcerned and most +haphazard, amid watercress and ragged robin +and creeping jenny.</p> + +<p>When at last you emerge for a moment—breathless—from +the woods, and come upon the +cottage, standing in the midst of its gay flower-patch, +you think you have solved the mystery +in the sweet smell of the newly turned earth; +or that it hovers over the crimson flame of the +Herb Robert glowing all about the tops of the +grey stone walls.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Yet it is not merely the birds and the flowers, +the wood scents and the trees that hold one as +with a spell. Such things can be catalogued; +whereas there is something intangible among the +wild woods, something indefinable, beyond all +material things, that makes in some incomprehensible +way for peace of mind and the mending +of the soul. And it is one of our greatest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> +blessings that we cannot tabulate it, or order +it by the dozen from the Stores; that it cannot +be “cornered” or monopolized by the money +grubber.</p> + +<p>The healing of the hills cannot be purchased +with gold. It is free to all—yet it can only be +had by individual, quiet seeking.</p> + +<p>The Glory still burns in the Bush; the Light +of God’s kindling can never be extinguished. +But sometimes we are too preoccupied to turn +aside to see the great sight; and sometimes we +fail to put our shoes from off our feet, forgetting +that the place whereon we stand is holy ground.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>II<br /> + +<small>Enter Eileen</small></h2> + + +<p class="unindent"><span class="smcap">I have</span> no “at home” day. I confess it reluctantly, +knowing what a state of social forsakenness +this implies. But it is wonderful how you +can manage to occupy your time with the simple +little duties of an editor’s office, till you never +feel the lack of greater events!</p> + +<p>Not that I am cut off from acquaintances +thereby; decidedly not. They are kind enough +to turn up on Saturday afternoons and take their +chance of finding me in; and when they do, +with one accord they proceed to pity me for all +the “at homes” I’ve missed during the week, +and they do their best to make me bright and +happy for the short half-holiday I am able to +take from work, while I just sit with my hands +in my lap and give myself up to being entertained.</p> + +<p>I don’t do knitting on such occasions, unlike +Miss Quirker who, when I chance to call, +remarks, “You’ll excuse my going on with this +sock, won’t you?—then I shan’t feel that I’m +<i>entirely</i> wasting my time!”</p> + +<p>For weeks I had been feeling that, no matter +what happened, I simply must get away from +London for a change of scene and a change of +noise—not a holiday; holidays had been out of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> +the question for some time past, with the major +portion of the office staff at the front. We had +been postponing and postponing going away, +feeling that it was unpatriotic to be out of town +when there was so much work to do. But at +last I decided some fresh air was imperative, and +arranged to spend a little time at my cottage on +the hillside, Virginia and Ursula, my two most +intimate friends, accompanying me, as the Head +of Affairs was abroad on important business.</p> + +<p>It seemed such long, long months since I +had heard anything about the Flower-Patch. +True, I had left Mrs. Widow (the villager who is +supposed to look after the house in my absence) +a bundle of stamped, addressed envelopes, when +last I was down, begging her to send me an +occasional letter, giving me news of the cottage, +and telling me how the flowers were getting on, +and whether the rose arches had blown down, +and when the wild snowdrops in the orchard +were in bloom, and if there were many apples +on the new trees we had planted, and whether +the lavender cuttings had taken hold, etc. I +felt that a few details of this description might +help to keep my brain balanced amid the tumult +and terror of the War.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Widow wrote regularly every month, +and this is the type of letter she always sent:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“Dear Mam. i hope your well, my newralger +has been cruell bad but it is Better now.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> +my daugters baby ethel have two teeth. she is +a smart Baby but do cry a lot. Mrs Greens +little girl have had something in her throat taken +out. doctor says its had a noise. John Green +have been called up but I expec you dont know +none of them As they lives 3 mile above Monmouth. +Mrs Greens sister lives to Cardiff she +had a boy last week. i hope the master is well. +Its the Sunday School versary tomorror. Thank +you for the money. glad to say everything all +rite.</p> + +<div class="sig"> +<span style="margin-right: 5em;">Yours</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">Mrs Widow</span>.”<br /> +</div></div> + +<p>I suppose the correct thing would be to call +the letters “human documents”; but as the +humans mentioned in the documents are, as +often as not, people of whom I have never +heard, the record of anniversaries, illnesses, +births, deaths, and marriages that she sends +regularly each month (as a receipt for cash +received), are seldom either illuminating or +exciting. There was nothing for it but to go +down and glean impressions first hand.</p> + +<p>It was known that I was going out of town +the following week, therefore a collection of +callers had looked in, and they were doing their +utmost to “liven me up” one afternoon in +February, and we were having a lovely time +explaining to each other how highly strung our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> +respective doctors said we were when they insisted +that we must take a complete rest. It +appeared—after a lavish amount of detail—that +we each suffered from far too active a brain; +I found I was by no means the only one!</p> + +<p>We also were most communicative about the +brilliancy of our children—not that we said it +because we were their mothers, you understand; +fortunately, unlike other mothers, we were able +to take quite detached views of our own children, +and regard them from a purely impersonal standpoint; +a great gain, because it enabled us to see +how really exceptional they were.</p> + +<p>I was not expected to contribute anything +under this heading, save copious notes of exclamation +on hearing what the various head +masters and mistresses had said regarding the +genius of the respective children. It was simply +amazing to sit there and just contemplate how +indebted the world would ultimately be to these +ladies, for having bestowed such prodigies on +their day and generation; for evidently there +wasn’t one of my guests who owned a just-ordinary +child! No, these young people were +all the joy and pride of their teacher, and the +way all of them would have passed their exams, +(if they hadn’t also possessed too active brains, +like their mothers), was positively phenomenal.</p> + +<p>There was one exception though—a boy at +Dulwich, who was notorious for his adhesion to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> +the lowest place in the form. But his mother, +not one whit behind the others in her proud +estimate of her son, confided to me that, for her +part, she shouldn’t think of allowing Claude to +be high up in the form. His ability was so +marked, that the doctor said he must at all +costs be kept back. Besides, you always knew +that a school that put its brightest and most +brilliant boys at the bottom of the class never +showed favouritism or forced the children +unduly.</p> + +<p>I agreed with her heartily, and then listened +to the confidences of another caller, a near neighbour +(this one was without children, brilliant or +otherwise), who told me that she had felt it her +patriotic duty in war time to do all she could +with her own two hands in the house; she had +therefore cut down her fourteen indoor servants +to nine; and she assured me she found that +they could really manage quite well with this +small number. Of course I looked politely +incredulous; who wouldn’t, knowing that there +was her husband as well as herself to be waited +upon?—and I raised my eyebrows interrogatively, +as though to inquire how she ever succeeded in +getting even the simplest war-meal served with +so inadequate a staff! But before she had +time to tell me how she managed, the door +opened and Mrs. Griggles was announced. And +as, whenever Mrs. Griggles is announced, it is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> +the signal for everyone who can to fly, I was not +surprised to see furs and handbags being collected, +and in a few more minutes the newcomer and I +had the drawing room to ourselves.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Griggles is a woman with, let us say, a +dominant note; not that I object to that; every +woman nowadays simply must have a dominant +note if she is to keep her head above water +(women’s war-work has proved a boon in that +respect), and some of them are more trying than +Mrs. Griggles’ pursuit of charity recipients. +There is the moth-ball lady, for instance, who’s +perennial boast is that the moth never come +near <i>her</i> furs; the nuisance is that no one else +can come near them either.</p> + +<p>Then there is the educational lady, who runs +a serial story on the iniquities of our educational +methods. “The whole system is wrong, abso-<i>lute</i>-ly +wrong, from beginning to end,” she +declaims. My one consolation is, that she +would be far less pleased if it were right, since +she would then have nothing to rail about.</p> + +<p>But my greatest bugbear is the inquisitorial +lady—generally eulogized by the Vicar, when he +is stuck fast for an adjective, as “<i>very</i> capable.” +She starts right away, in the middle of a piece +of best war-cake, with a clear cut inquiry such +as: “Does your husband wear striped flannel +shirts under his white ones?” Hurriedly you +try to decide on the safest reply. But she has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> +you either way! If you say Yes, she explains +how injurious it is to wear coloured stripes; +they may be a deadly skin irritant, for all you +know. If you say No, she holds up hands of +amazement that any woman can neglect the +man of her heart in such a way, and instructs +you in the necessity for his wearing flannel in +addition to his vests.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Griggles is a mere picnic beside the +inquisitorial lady, for at least you know what +her theme will be; whereas with the other you +never know where she will open an attack.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Griggles’ mission in life is to be generous +and charitable. “It is so beautiful to feel that +you have done another a kindness, no matter +how small,” she constantly remarks. And I’ll say +this for Mrs. Griggles, I never knew anyone able +to do so many kindnesses in the course of the +year—at other people’s expense! And I never +knew anyone more generous—with other people’s +possessions.</p> + +<p>Where her own belongings are concerned, +she is the very soul of rigid economy; why they +didn’t co-opt her on to the War Savings Committee +I cannot understand.</p> + +<p>Only once has she been known to give away +anything of her own, and that was a paper +pattern of a dressing jacket that she cut out in +newspaper from the tissue original which she +had borrowed from a friend.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p> + +<p>Whenever I see the lady looming in the +offing, I find myself mentally running over my +wardrobe, to see what coat or skirt I can spare +for the sad case she is probably just starting in a +hairdresser’s shop; or wondering whether I have +any sheets for a sick woman; or whether the +stock of knee-caps I purchased at the last Bazaar +is quite exhausted; or whether the kitchen +would rebel if she does send every week for the +tea-leaves; or whether I’ve given away all the +Surgical-Aid letters.</p> + +<p>You never know what request she will make. +Yet she doesn’t irritate me, as she does some +people, simply because I regard her as a Charity-Broker; +her work is distinctly useful, and, up to +a certain point, praiseworthy, if she didn’t make +quite such a song about her own benevolence +and ignore the part in it played by other people.</p> + +<p>She saves my time by hunting out cases that +may, or may not, need help; and if she glows +when she bestows my money or my boots upon +them—well, I glow too, with the thought of my +own kindness and beneficence. And anything +that can make anybody glow in this vale of +tears, isn’t to be despised.</p> + +<p>Of course I wasn’t surprised when she began, +with her second mouthful, “By the way, dear, +I’ve <i>such</i> a distressing case I’m needing a little +help for; really quite <i>heart</i>-breaking.”</p> + +<p>I’d heard it all before, and instantly decided<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> +that my mackintosh could go; it was rather too +skimpy for the fuller skirts that the season had +ushered in. Likewise the plaid blouse; the +pattern was very disappointing now it was made +up; piece goods are so deceptive. And I +would gladly part with the vermilion satin +cushion embroidered with yellow eschscholtzias, +that had lain in a trunk in the attic since the +last Sale of Work but two, if the distressing +case could be induced to believe that it needed +propping up in bed. But the rest of my goods +I meant to cling to with all the tenacity of a +war-reduced woman with no separation allowance. +I hadn’t one solitary woollen garment to +spare, no matter <i>how</i> rheumaticky the heartbreak +might be.</p> + +<p>But it turned out that it wasn’t clothes she +was wanting, at least, only as a side issue. Her +main need was for a few weeks of fresh air, a +happy home, plenty of good plain food and good +influence (this last, she told me, was <i>most</i> important, +and that was why she had thought at once +of coming to me) for a girl who had just had a +bad break-down, through overwork and underfeeding +in a cheap-class boarding house where +she had been the maid of all work. Nothing +the matter with her that you could put your +finger on, but just a general slump—though +Mrs. Griggles put it more choicely than that.</p> + +<p>The girl’s biographical data included: a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> +grandmother who attended Mrs. Griggles’ +mothers’ meeting regularly, though she had to +hobble there, one of the cleanest and most +respectful women you could ever hope to meet; +a mother who had died in the Infirmary at her +birth, a father who had never been forthcoming, +and an upbringing in the workhouse schools.</p> + +<p>I hadn’t been exactly planning to take on +an orphan at that time: they are proverbial for +their appetites, and the butcher’s book hadn’t +led my thoughts in that particular direction, any +more than the dairyman’s weekly bill. All the +same, when Mrs. Griggles showed me how plain +my duty lay before me, naturally I said: “Send +her and her grandmother round to see me this +evening.” I was even more anxious to see the +grandmother than the girl; for I had long ago +given up all hope of ever meeting again such a +phenomenon (or perhaps it should be phenomena, +being feminine) as a woman who was clean as +well as respectful!</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>They arrived promptly. The grandmother +seemed a sensible, hard-working body, who had +migrated from Devonshire to London when she +married; for over forty years she had lived, or +rather existed, in the back-drifts of our great +city with never a glimpse of her native village. +Yet——</p> + +<p>On my writing table there stood a bowl of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> +snowdrops, in a mass of sweet-scented frondy +moss, with sprigs of the tiny-leaved ivy; they had +arrived only that morning from the Flower-Patch +among the hills. When she saw them, the old +woman clasped her hands with genuine emotion. +“Oh, ma’am, <i>how</i> they ’mind me of when I was a +girl!” she exclaimed. “And with that moss and +all! Why, I can just feel my fingers getting all +cold and damp as they used to when I did +gather them in the lane ’long by our house—it +seems on’y yesterday, that it do!” and tears +actually came to her eyes.</p> + +<p>I decided on the spot that her granddaughter +should have the freshest of air and the best of +food (to say nothing of unlimited good influence) +for the next month, at any rate.</p> + +<p>As for the granddaughter herself, I think +she was the most utterly dejected, forlorn, of-no-account-looking +girl I have ever set eyes +on. She told me she was twenty (though her +intelligence seemed about fourteen), and her +name was Eileen. It was noticeable, however, +that her grandmother, in the fit of reminiscent +absent-mindedness occasioned by the snowdrops, +called her Ann.</p> + +<p>It wasn’t that she looked ill; hers was an +expression of hopelessness; the look that comes +to a young thing from a course of systematic +unkindness from which it has neither the wit +nor the courage to escape. Since she had left<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> +the Parish Schools, she had apparently drifted +from one place to another, each worse than the +last. Fortunately her grandmother had kept a +firm hold of her, and had done her best to keep +her clean—both in body and mind; but her +whole appearance said as plainly as any words, +that no one else had ever taken the slightest +personal interest in her, or given her anything to +hope for.</p> + +<p>Her hair was screwed round in a small tight +knot in the nape of her neck, and kept there by +two huge hairpins the size of small meat skewers; +her dress was merely a dingy-black shapeless +covering, not even a fancy button to brighten +it; her hat was a plain all-black sailor. She +had that blank, dazed look that one so often sees +when lower-class children are brought up in +masses, where individual attention is impossible.</p> + +<p>I told them that I was going down to the +West of England the following week, and if she +thought she could stand the quiet, and the +absence of shops and people, Eileen could come +for a month, and just breathe the fresh air and do +her best to get strong.</p> + +<p>She was genuinely delighted—there was no +mistake about that. She seemed quite to wake +up, and became almost animated at the thought +of going into the country. <i>That</i> was the thing +that appealed to her; and she looked at me +with open-eyed amazement when I told her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> +that the snowdrops grew wild in the orchard +there.</p> + +<p>In the orchard? And might she pick a few +for herself and send one or two to her grandmother? +Wouldn’t “they” mind if anyone +picked some? She had never seen a violet or a +primrose growing wild in her life, though she +had always wanted to.</p> + +<p>And she and her grandmother looked and +smiled at each other with some new bond of +sympathy.</p> + +<p>Heredity will out!</p> + +<p>“But,” said the grandmother firmly, almost +ashamed of her own sentimental lapse of the +minute before, “of course she will work, ma’am, +and work well—or she’s no granddaughter of +mine!—in return for your great kindness in +having her. She can’t pay you in money, but +she can work, and I hope you’ll find her very +useful. You’ll do your best for the lady, won’t +you, Ann?”—most severely to the girl.</p> + +<p>“Yes, grandmother,” she replied, dropping +back into an attitude of meek dejection. “Of +course I’ll do my <i>very</i> best.”</p> + +<p>I told them there was no need for her to do +more than make her own bed. Abigail would +be there to do all I needed. But the girl +protested she should be happier if she had +proper work to do, if only I could find something +I wanted done; and her grandmother<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> +insisted that she hoped she knew her place, and +it wasn’t a lady she was born to be, and therefore +I must see that she didn’t sit with her hands +idle.</p> + +<p>So I said she and the housemaid must settle +it between them, and I summoned Abigail to be +introduced to Eileen, and explained that they +would be spending the next week or two together.</p> + +<p>Abigail listened, I presume, though her gaze +was on the curtain-pole at the far end of the +room; and she finally departed with neither look +nor word that betrayed the slightest consciousness +of Eileen’s existence; Eileen meanwhile +looked nervously frightened and more dejected +than ever.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>I was by no means surprised when Abigail +sought me out next morning to inquire, if it was +all the same to me, might cook go down to the +country this time, in her stead? as her sister +was expecting to be married immediately—well, +it might be next week, or the week after, or +next month; she couldn’t say exactly; it all +depended on when her young man got leave. +But naturally she, Abigail, wanted to be present +at the wedding; and one couldn’t get up in +half-an-hour from Tintern! In any case, she +was having a new dress made, in readiness for +the event, and wanted to go to the dressmaker +next Friday.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></p> + +<p>It would be a most inhuman person who +sought to part a girl and her sister’s wedding; +naturally I said on no account must she be away +from London on such an occasion—and please +send cook to me.</p> + +<p>She came, with pursed lips.</p> + +<p>Of course, if Madam wished her to go down +to the country, Madam had only to give instructions, +etc.—the inference being that whenever +Madam gave instructions, crowds flew to carry +them out!</p> + +<p>But her left ankle had been very troublesome +lately; Madam probably remembered that +it was all due to the time she turned her foot +under on the rough path in the lower wood the +very last occasion she went down. She had +thought of asking for a couple of hours off, to go +to the doctor about it to-morrow; but of course, +if there wasn’t time for that, etc.——</p> + +<p>February in the country never did agree +with her; always gave her hay fever, she was +never herself for six months after; still, if I +wished her to go next week, etc.——</p> + +<p>Only, there was one point on which she +would be glad of a clear understanding before +she went: <i>was she expected to wait on that young +person?</i></p> + +<p>I told her, no; and she need not wait on me +either. I shouldn’t take either of them down +with me. I left it at that—to her surprise.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then I sought out Eileen and her grandmother, +asked if she felt she could make the +fires and wash up, if Mrs. Widow and I did all +the rest; as, if so, I should pay her at the same +rate that I paid Abigail. You should have seen +the look of relief that came over her face when +she heard Abigail was not going.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I could do <i>everything</i>,” she said. “I’d +so much rather do it and be by myself. I’m +very strong; and I’m afraid I might upset Miss +Abigail.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Miss</i> Abigail!” snorted the old grandmother. +“Has to earn her living same as the +rest of us, I suppose! But I’m much more easy +in my mind, ma’am, that Ann is going without +her. She’ll look after you well, she will; you’ll +want nothing, her’ll see to that” (slipping back +into her old-time Devonshire), “but she’s not +bin used to stuck-up society.”</p> + +<p>Thus it came about that instead of the +fashionably-attired and efficient Abigail, I eventually +went down to my cottage accompanied +by a girl who looked precisely like an estimable +orphan, just stepped out of some Early Victorian +Sunday-school library book; and you felt sure +she would come to an equally virtuous end.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, I didn’t go the following week, +as I had planned.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>III<br /> + +<small>“You Never Know”</small></h2> + + +<p class="unindent">Life is full of surprises.</p> + +<p>Virginia has always maintained that the +motto of my house ought to be “<small>YOU NEVER +KNOW</small>,” simply because of the rapidity with +which I change my mind, and the complications +and unexpected developments that follow thereupon.</p> + +<p>She begged me to have it carved in the +wooden beams above the mantelpiece. But as +I didn’t, she brought me a Chinese tablet (her +brother is a persistent traveller, and I think she +had unearthed it from some of his effects), +bearing on a red background three imposing-looking +Chinese symbols, in gold.</p> + +<p>I asked her what they meant; though I have +never embarked on any language of China, +Virginia has studied most things under the sun, +and I concluded she knew. She replied that it +was the household motto: “You never know”; +and she placed it in a conspicuous position +above the fireplace in my London dining-room. +And when guests asked its meaning, of course I +translated it for them, with the air of one who +had spoken Mandarin from her cradle; and they +looked proportionately impressed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></p> + +<p>One day, however, an Oriental scholar of +unquestionable authority chanced to be dining +with us, and he suddenly raised his glasses and +studied the tablet with evident interest.</p> + +<p>“May I ask why you have that above the +mantelpiece?” he inquired politely.</p> + +<p>“Oh, it’s merely the family motto,” I answered +airily, “but we have it in Chinese to-night, in +your honour.”</p> + +<p>“Really! You do surprise me!! It seems +so curious to be greeted with that in your +house!!!” And he looked at me in undisguised +amazement.</p> + +<p>Then I grew anxious, and wondered to +myself what it did mean; and since discretion +is the better part of a good many things, I +thought it would be wisest to explain that +I hadn’t the faintest idea what it stood for.</p> + +<p>He smiled when I confessed. “Well, I can +tell you,” he said, as he proceeded to mumble a +little in an unknown tongue to himself, reading +each collection of strokes in turn. “It means—er—let +me see—well—to translate it quite +broadly, you understand, in the vernacular, the +nearest equivalent in English is ‘Beware of +Pickpockets.’”</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Truly, you never know!</p> + +<p>Work was extra heavy in my office that +week. Like every other business house, we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> +were understaffed, with the majority of our +expert men at the front. Moreover, I was +trying to get things a little ahead, as I was +going away on the Friday.</p> + +<p>I did not get home till nearly nine o’clock +on the Tuesday following my adoption of +Eileen, and by that time I was too tired to +trouble about matters domestic. Nevertheless +I noticed that the house seemed very draughty; +but I put it down to a very high wind that had +set in earlier in the day.</p> + +<p>As I was going upstairs to bed about half-past +ten, I noticed the powerful draught again. +I like plenty of air in the house, but after all a +line should be drawn somewhere when it is +blowing a hurricane, and I said so.</p> + +<p>“<i>Well</i>, and to think I forgot to tell you!” +said Abigail cheerfully. “The skylight’s blown +clean away, and rain’s been pouring in like anything +on the top landing!” Judging by her +pleased expression, you might have thought that +the deluge was in gold.</p> + +<p>If you have ever been fortunate enough to +find yourself minus a fair-sized skylight on a +stormy night, and the man of the house away +on urgent business, and not expected back for a +month, you will know what my feelings were +when I heard the news. It is useless for me to +try to describe them.</p> + +<p>Virginia and Ursula, who live near me in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> +London, were hastily summoned. By the time +we had all done exclaiming, “Well, I never!” +singly and in chorus, and had heard full details of +the catastrophe repeated for the eighth time by +Abigail, it was eleven o’clock. And as no self-respecting +builder’s man can do any work after +five o’clock (and few seem able to do any before +that hour), it was obviously useless to hope for +professional aid. So we took a step-ladder to +the top landing and piled it on a table, with me +on top of all, domestics clutching the step-ladder +fervently as I balanced myself on its dizzy +height, and exclaiming, “Oh, do be careful, +madam!” at frequent intervals; with Virginia +and Ursula offering unlimited advice in a +running duet.</p> + +<p>At last I was high enough to get my head +out of the space where the skylight ought to +have been, and there I saw it further down the +roof. I fished for it with the crook of an +umbrella-handle, and got it up at last, though +it threatened to blow away again every moment. +We managed to secure it by putting some +screws in the framework of the roving skylight, +and also in the woodwork to which that skylight +was supposed to be attached, but wasn’t; and +then winding copper wire round and round both +sets of screws. In this way we kept the flighty +creature anchored till the morning. I was +rather proud of the neat and effectual job<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> +I had made of it, when I surveyed it from +below.</p> + +<p>The builder smiled politely but pitifully +when he gazed at my efforts next day. He +then proceeded to explain to me that though, of +course, he was quite competent to refix that +skylight as it ought to be fixed (and as, indeed, +it never had been fixed since the day the house +was built), nevertheless it would be an exceedingly +awkward job. From what I could gather from +his technical conversation, and diagrams made +with a stubby bit of pencil on old envelopes +from his pocket, that skylight had been placed +in absolutely the most inaccessible part of the +whole roof; it would take all sorts of ladders, to +say nothing of scaffolding, to get anywhere near +it, etc. It would be a dangerous job, too, and of +course he must take every precaution and run no +risks. All of which I knew from past experience +was by way of letting me know that (being the +unfortunate owner of the property) I should have +the privilege of settling a nice long bill presently.</p> + +<p>I did feebly suggest that rather than imperil +the lives of his most valuable-looking assistants, +he should simplify matters by dealing with the +skylight from the inside. But he only looked +at me witheringly and said, “Madam, the hinges +are outside.”</p> + +<p>Naturally, I was humiliated and effectually +silenced.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p> + +<p>When, finally, they had accomplished the +well-nigh impossible, and reached that skylight, +the builder returned to report that never, in all +his life, had he seen a roof in worse condition +than mine was. It appeared to be simply a +special providence that the whole covering to +the house had not blown clean away—or else +tumbled in on top of us! He said he just +wished I would come up and see it; he didn’t +ask anyone merely to take his word for it; there +it was for me to see; and I might believe him +when he said that if the roof needed three new +slates it needed three hundred.</p> + +<p>Once again I got in a gentle word to the +effect that it was strange we had never had any +trouble with the roof, nor a drop of rain come +through; but the look of injured, virtuous +dignity he put on at the mere hint of doubt on +my part, made me hastily beg him to proceed +with the necessary work—otherwise I saw myself +sitting up another night sick-nursing a skylight!</p> + +<p>The builder told me I needn’t worry about +the gentleman being away; lots of gentlemen +he was in the habit of working for were away +just now; he would superintend the work his +own self, and he went off assuring me that he +meant to make a <i>good</i> job of it.</p> + +<p>Then I sent a note to Eileen, asking her kindly +to postpone packing for a few days, as I was +unavoidably detained in town.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p> + +<p>The men got on the top of the roof most +mornings at about half-past six, and apparently +started to play golf up there—judging by the +sounds overhead. But they always found it +too windy, or too wet, or too something, to stay +up there, once they had awakened the whole +household. So they invariably went away again +till about three-thirty in the afternoon—by which +time I suppose the roof was thoroughly well +aired, and it was safe for them to sit on it and +smoke a pipe or two.</p> + +<p>It was a fortnight before that roof was finished. +Finally they left. And the kitchen staff grew +pensive.</p> + +<p>But the very day after they had cleared their +ladders away, I saw a tiny stream oozing out of +the sodden grass in the front garden. I knew, +even before the builder returned and looked wise, +that it was a leak in the pipe leading from the +water-main.</p> + +<p>The pipe-mending squad that arrived next +morning was not the same as the roof-mending +squad; but the kitchen, being quite impartial, +recovered its spirits immediately.</p> + +<p>These men, evidently most competent, started +work in a business-like manner, by removing the +two sets of gates, that terminate the semi-circular +carriage drive, and blocking up the stable door +with them. Next they dug what looked like a +network of trenches for giants. They piled up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> +the edging tiles from the beds, and the gravel +from the paths, on the front door step; they +banked up turf and more gravel under the +windows; they uprooted laurels and privet, and +the usual array of evergreens that are the only +things that will keep alive in a London front +garden, and laid them one on top of the other, +effectually barricading the tradesmen’s entrance. +And when they had made it delightfully impossible +for anyone to get either in or out of the +house, they one and all came to a halt, and leant +wearily on their picks.</p> + +<p>Just then a brilliant idea seemed to strike +one of them whereby he might make himself a +still greater nuisance, and he hurriedly turned +off the water.</p> + +<p>They spent the remainder of the day resting +on their tools—save when they were gallantly +passing in cans and jugs of water (borrowed from +my neighbour) to smiling Cook or Abigail at the +side door.</p> + +<p>It rained hard all night, and by next morning +we had quite a spacious lake in the front garden. +The squad returned to the post of duty, and +once more disposed themselves like guardian +angels on its banks. When, in sheer exasperation, +I asked them how long they were going to +leave things like that, and the house without a +drop of water, the foreman replied, politely but +non-committally, that he couldn’t exactly say,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> +but the Boss was coming round to see me +shortly.</p> + +<p>The builder arrived later, to inform me that +this was a most serious leak; he didn’t know +when he had seen one precisely like it before. +Of course, it was partly due to the pipe; how +any man could have called himself a plumber, +and put in such a pipe as <i>that!</i>—well, words failed +him! He himself was not a man to boast of his +own doings, but he didn’t mind telling me that +I could take up any piece of ground I liked, +where he had laid a pipe, and see the sort <i>he</i> put +underground.</p> + +<p>Then it transpired that the leakage was of +such a character that he dare not proceed an +inch farther with it without calling in the water +company’s officials. Did I authorise him to do +so? Of course they would charge special fees +for “opening up the ground.” I wondered where +else they would find any to “open up” on my +premises, seeing that by this time the whole +estate was a gaping void! As I saw the turncock +and a variety of other gentlemen with gold +letters embroidered on their collars, propping +themselves up against my holly hedge, I just +said, “Oh, yes; do anything you please.”</p> + +<p>And they did.</p> + +<p>Some of the embroidered ones then proceeded +to dig up the whole pavement, and right out +into the middle of the road (the leak being inside<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> +the garden, close beside my front door!). It +does not take long to write about it, but I don’t +want to mislead you into thinking there was any +feverish haste about their methods. Oh, no! +theirs was the calm un-hurrying work of the +true artist; and the builder’s squad stood round +admiringly, most careful not to interfere.</p> + +<p>Once again the whole lot came to a standstill, +and rested on any available implement; and +they now made a goodly crowd (I had no idea +there were so many non-khaki men still loose), +which was further supplemented by a policeman, +one or two aged men who had discarded the +workhouse for the more leisurely life that modern +business offers, and a variety of languid young +ladies who had been sent out on urgent errands +from sundry local shops.</p> + +<p>In the lull, the chief official from the water +company sought an interview with me, when he +broke the news that never, in all his life, had he +seen a more antiquated stop-cock (which, by the +way, had been made in Germany) than the one +I had had placed (apparently out of sheer perversity +or malice) in the front of my premises. +It seems that there was no key in the whole of +London that would turn that stop-cock; and +when finally it had turned it, that key could not +be got out again. However, or whenever, I had +managed to evade the Eye of Authority so far +as to drop that stop-cock into the ground, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> +could not think; but, at any rate, out it would +have to come again.</p> + +<p>Here I managed to get in a word sideways, +and told him that the much maligned article +had been placed there by another squad of men +from the same water company (after a similar +harangue), and then duly “passed” by an +inspector only two years ago.</p> + +<p>Two years ago! he exclaimed, why, <i>that</i> +inspector had been called up in the spring, and +he was no loss to the company! Not that he +(the speaker) was one to say anything against +another man’s work, but if I would just come +out and examine it for myself (it was raining +torrents, and the stop-cock was an island in a +watery waste) I would see that the whole affair +was scandalous. He was the last to utter an ill-word +about any man, more especially behind his +back, but conscientiousness compelled him to +state that the late inspector was about as fit to +be in the employ of a water company as—“as +<i>you</i> are, ma’am.” Evidently he could think of +no more hopelessly incapable specimen of +humanity.</p> + +<p>Then it transpired that the real object of his +call on me was to ask whether I authorised him +to put in a new stop-cock (more special fees, of +course).</p> + +<p>As I didn’t seem to be left much choice in +the matter, and I wasn’t sure whether, if I left it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> +in, after being told to take it out, the Defence of +the Realm couldn’t come and have me shot at +dawn, I told him he had my full permission to +put in twenty new stop-cocks if he liked; he +was at liberty to place them as a trimming outside +my garden wall, or as an edging at the kerb, +or in a fancy zigzag design around the drive—anything—everything—whatsoever +and howsoever +he pleased, so long as it enabled him, conscientiously, +<i>to turn on my water again</i>.</p> + +<p>(The lady next door had already said that +while she was delighted to give me the water, +and would even throw in all the jugs and cans +she possessed, she really couldn’t spare her +coachman (aged 73) for more than half-an-hour +at each delivery, as he was the one ewe-lamb +left them, since war claimed the rest, and +would I kindly see that my kitchen limited their +conversation to that extent, and returned him, +carriage forward, within that time.)</p> + +<p>The Chief Official looked at me thoughtfully +for half a moment, and then retired in silence—to +have the door-mat he had just vacated immediately +monopolised by the builder, who had +been waiting respectfully in the background. +(I say background, because I can’t think of any +other comprehensive term that signifies a couple +of narrow, wobbly, muddy planks, laid across a +well-filled moat; <i>ground</i> there was none.)</p> + +<p>He congratulated me on having been let off<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> +by the Official so easily, and cited instances of +owners of property he knew who had been compelled +to lay miles of fresh pipes (or it seemed +to be miles, judging by the time he took to +describe it) as the result of inattention to Official +Rules and Regulations regarding Stop-cocks. +But he intimated that he had put in a good +word for me, and besought them to deal +leniently with me, “Knowing, ma’am, how +generous you and the gentleman always are.”</p> + +<p>I didn’t respond to the hint.</p> + +<p>Just at this point he made an opportunity to +suggest that in view of the shocking workmanship +revealed in the pipes outside, it would +certainly be wise of me to have the pipes overhauled +all through the house, because one could +never tell when one might burst without a +moment’s notice, and a flood of water ruin +everything. It would only necessitate his +taking up the floors in the dining-room and the +study and the hall and the kitchens and the +greenhouse next the house, and possibly a landing +and bath-room and dressing-room upstairs. +As it was, the pipes might be leaking terribly +under the ground-floors already, disseminating +damp and disease throughout the house (though +the servants and I were particularly healthy at +the time). There was a terrible amount of +illness about, he continued; next door to him a +little boy had whooping-cough, and the local<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> +undertaker, a friend of his, had just told him +trade had never been better; although they +were working day and night they could hardly +manage to execute all the orders. Of course, +all this was primarily due to damp.</p> + +<p>Even as he spoke he pressed his ample foot +so heavily on the hall floor, that but for a stout +linoleum I feel sure he would have gone through; +then he said it looked to him very much as +though dry rot had set in there already, and +it would probably be necessary to re-floor +the hall.</p> + +<p>In vain I reminded him that it had rained +without cessation—so far as my distraught +memory served me—for the past eighteen months, +hence <i>dry</i> rot would seem little short of a miracle. +But he only looked at me in that pitying way +builders do when any feminine owner of property +ventures a remark; and he next asked if I had +noticed signs of damp anywhere in the upstairs +room? After all, the upstairs pipes might be +leaking too.</p> + +<p>Then I remembered, and I told him there +undoubtedly was damp upstairs, now he mentioned +it, one patch about two feet square, and +another smaller one. He was instantly alert, +said it would certainly be one of the pipes leading +from the cistern; most dangerous, too, for you +never knew when the whole cistern might be +flowing down over everything. So I took him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> +up and showed him the big wet patches on a +ceiling, one dripping with a melancholy hollow +sound into a zinc bath Abigail had placed below; +they were on the ceiling directly under that +portion of the roof where his men had played +golf each morning, the cistern being in another +part of the house, and no pipes were anywhere +near.</p> + +<p>He became silent, and I left him meditating, +while I went down to see Virginia, who had +come in.</p> + +<p>“Ursula and I have been making plans for +you,” she began, “as you seem too distracted to +make any for yourself.”</p> + +<p>“Distracted! I should think I am; so would +you be if you had the cheerful prospect of a +cistern emptying itself on top of you at any +moment—that is to say, if it ever gets full again—and +the whole of the downstairs floor to come +up, and dry-rot in the hall, and the Law down +on you because you’ve been harbouring an alien +stop-cock, and exactly a pint of water in the +house (apart from that which is coming in +through the roof, of course), and whooping-cough +and a watery grave just ahead of you, and +the undertaker too busy to bury you!”</p> + +<p>“Just listen to me,” she said soothingly. +“You are probably not aware that you have got +the back of your skirt fastened somewhere about +your left hip, and the braiding that ought to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> +down the centre in front, is just at your right +hand. Now when a woman puts on her clothes +like <i>that</i>, it’s a sure sign she needs a little rest. +Therefore I’m going to take you right off to +the cottage first thing to-morrow morning; I’ve +told Eileen to be ready; and Ursula is coming +in here to assume charge of affairs till such time +as those amiable British workmen see fit to +remove themselves.”</p> + +<p>I protested that I was far too necessary to +the well-being of London to be spared at the +moment, and widespread havoc would result if +I left town at this juncture. By way of reply, +she asked if I would take some linen blouses +with me, as well as my thicker things, in case +the weather turned warmer? And then she +summoned Abigail to help her do my packing.</p> + +<p>Next morning, as I was being tenderly +placed in the one and only cab our suburb +now possesses, the whole battalion of workmen, +embroidered and otherwise, paused respectfully +in the midst of further excavations and a vastly +extended scheme of earthworks they had started +upon; and I saw a look on the face of the Chief +Official that plainly said he considered they were +removing me to an asylum none too soon!</p> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>IV<br /> + +<small>The Hill-Side Trail</small></h2> + + +<p class="unindent">Eileen didn’t say much on the journey, save +an occasional burst of ecstasy when she saw a +rabbit sitting up and washing its face. It was +interesting to watch the Devonshire ancestry +looking out through eyes that hitherto had seen +little but the sordid grey-brown grime of London, +but were now drinking in everything on that loveliest +of English lines—and where can you equal +the G.W.R. for beautiful scenery, combined +with such good carriage springs, such courteous +officials, and such always-attentive guards?</p> + +<p>Owing to the accommodating character of +the Time Table, as re-arranged by our paternal +government, there was no Wye Valley connection, +and we had some time to wait at Chepstow. +We went into the hotel and I ordered a meal, +Eileen choosing fried ham and eggs as the +greatest flight of luxury to which her mind could +soar. I admit it was reckless extravagance for +war-time, but Virginia and I, to say nothing of +Eileen, were cold and hungry, and really one +can’t be held accountable for one’s actions under +such circumstances. It was a noble dish when +it came, enough for five people.</p> + +<p>When Eileen had cleared her first helping,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> +she merely gazed at me with a seraphic smile, +still clutching her knife and fork. I asked if she +would like any more?</p> + +<p>“No, thank you, ma’am,” she replied, in the +most polite company style. But seeing her eyes +still on the dish, I pressed her to have another +slice; I knew she would have several hours of +keen fresh air before we could get our next +meal.</p> + +<p>She leant a little towards me, her knife and +fork held upright on the table the while. “Well, +it’s like this,” she said, in a loud stage whisper, +that sent a ripple over the few people who were +in the coffee room. “Does you have to pay for +it whether you eats it or not?”</p> + +<p>I nodded.</p> + +<p>“Then I <i>will</i> have some more, thank you,” +and she heaved a sigh of deep contentment.</p> + +<p>Perhaps it was as well Abigail didn’t come!</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The drive from the station to my cottage +seemed to be through one long vista of sweet +odours.</p> + +<p>Up to Monmouth the Wye is a tidal river, +and the water was rushing up, backed by a +strong wind, bringing with it, faint but unmistakable, +the salt tang of the sea, that seems all +the more delicious when it has swept over woods +and meadows and ploughed fields.</p> + +<p>As we left the river bank and started the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> +long uphill climb, the scent of the newly-turned +earth became more and more insistent +as one passed stray farms and cottages, where +the most was being made of the little bright +sunshine.</p> + +<p>Although it was only the end of February, +the brave bit of sunshine had stirred in the +larches thoughts of coming spring, and already +there was a suspicion of the resinous odour that +is one of their many delightful characteristics.</p> + +<p>But it would be impossible to name even a +fraction of the perfumes that were floating about +that day: everything in Nature had responded +to the welcome sun-warmth; and incense was +rising from myriads of leaf-buds, closely sheathed +as yet; from uncountable armies of grass blades; +from flowering moss, and uncurling ferns, and +bursting acorns; from the hundreds of thousands +of catkins swinging on the hazels; from primroses +pushing up pink stems and yellow blossoms +in sheltered corners, where they had been protected +by drifts of dead leaves. And probably +the leaves of the wild hyacinths, now an inch or +so above ground, had brought up some of the +sweet earth-scents from below; likewise the blue-green +leaves of the daffodils just poking through +the soil, and the snowdrop spears, whose white +flowers were nodding in big patches in orchards +and front gardens. And it is certain that some +early violets were hiding under their leaves.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></p> + +<p>It is noticeable that while the scents of +autumn are often strong and bitter, the scents +of spring are usually delicate and sweet.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>It seems to me that in time we town-dwellers +will lose our sense of smell! The odours that +pervade our cities are so surpassingly abominable, +that in sheer self-defence we have to “turn off +our nose,” if you know what I mean by that; +we are getting to smell as little as possible, just +as we are getting to breathe as little as possible, +owing to the vitiated air of the great crowded +centres; with the result that we seem to +be losing our power to smell sensitively and +keenly, as well as our power to breathe +deeply.</p> + +<p>In town, the winds and the seasons seem only +distinguishable by the grade of one’s underwear. +Outer garments are no guide, for in December +and January one meets bare chests in the public +thoroughfares and transparent gowns indoors; +while in August, with equal suitability, we trim +a chiffon blouse with fur! (and, by the way, it is +instructive to recall the fact that it was a German +Court dressmaker who first set going the inappropriate, +vulgar, inartistic fashion of trimming frail +transparent dress materials with fur).</p> + +<p>If you live in clean fresh air, however, you +know the seasons by their odours, and it is +possible to distinguish with absolute certainty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> +the four winds of heaven by their scent, just as +at sea you can smell land, or an iceberg, before +it is anywhere within sight.</p> + +<p>The scent of the east wind is entirely different +from the scent of the north wind, though both +are cold and penetrating. In the same way, +the scent of growing bracken—for instance—is +entirely different from the scent of moss. But +it takes time for the town-dweller to be able to +distinguish between the more subtle of the +thousand fragrances that Nature flings broadcast +about the countryside, so blunted is the +sense of smell by the coarse reek of dirt, +and petrol, and chemicals, and smoke, and over-breathed +poisoned atmosphere that does duty for +“air” in the modern centres of civilisation.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Virginia was vowing that she could actually +smell the salmon in the river, when we entered +the village; at the same time, the fish cart that +makes a weekly tour of these hills was standing +outside the “New Inn” (dated 1724). I omitted +to draw her attention to the coincidence, because +at that moment the lady of the post-office stepped +out into the road and waved a telegram at our +approaching steed.</p> + +<p>It was from the Head of Affairs, briefly +stating that he had returned home, safe and +sound, that he would soon have the little mess +cleared up, and that I need not worry.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span></p> + +<p>Naturally, my inclination was to turn round +there and then, get back home as soon as possible, +and fall on his overcoat; but Virginia reminded +me that there was no train returning that day, +and if there were, we should probably only cross +one another on the road—in accordance with my +usual method of meeting people.</p> + +<p>So I went on, a huge load having been lifted +from my brain. I am sufficiently out-of-date +and weak-minded to be profoundly thankful +when the Head of Affairs steps in and re-adjusts +my always-very-much-in-a-tangle affairs, and sets +them on a business-like basis again: and knowing +his capability to deal both with mind and matter, +I didn’t worry another moment, though I was +sceptical about any speedy clearing up of the +mess!</p> + +<p>And because my heart was lighter, I seemed +to see so many things I had not noticed before. +In every sheltered corner shoots were showing, +and green things starting from the earth—and +every shoot set one’s mind running on ahead to +the things that were yet to be. I have heard +people deplore the fact that human nature is so +prone to anticipate events; I have been told +that the reason animals live such a placid, contented +life, is because they only concentrate on +the present. It may be so; but personally, I +wouldn’t be without my anticipations, even +though it may mean a loss of placidity.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p> + +<p>The commandment is to take no <i>anxious</i> +thought for the morrow; there is nothing said +against looking ahead for happiness.</p> + +<p>And a wander among our hills and along +our lanes on a mild February day, means that +in addition to the loveliness of early spring, you +sense the beauty of summer—and much more +besides.</p> + +<p>Every soft, grey-green shoot on the tangled +honeysuckle stems sets you thinking of the yellow, +rosy-tinged blossoms that will fill the long +summer evenings with fragrance; every crimson +thorn and bursting leaf on the wild rose, tells of +far-flung branches that will arch the hedges and +flush them with pale-pink flowers later on; the +rosettes of foxglove leaves on the roadside banks +remind you of the bells that will be ringing all +along the lanes when summer sets in.</p> + +<p>And although the fresh green of all the +courageous little things that have braved the +winds and peeped forth, is exquisite enough in +itself to satisfy that eternal craving of the +human heart for something fresh from the Hand +of God, yet the promise that each proclaims +carries one into further realms of loveliness, and +conjures up visions that can never be put down +in black and white.</p> + +<p>One dimly understands how impossible was +the task St. John set himself when he tried to +describe the glimpse that was permitted him of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> +the City not made with hands. He wrote of +gold, and pearls, and crystal, and inexhaustible +gems—yet these are but cold, lifeless things, and +the list of them leaves us unmoved. With all +the words at his command, with all the similes +he could muster, nothing brings us so near a +conception of that vision as his indication of the +Divine understanding of poor human needs, and +the promise of a fuller, richer life, freed from +earthly disadvantages and with nothing to sever +us from God.</p> + +<p>At a time like the present, when souls +innumerable are bearing silent sorrows, and the +whole earth is scarred with the iron hoof of the +Prussian beast, how much more to us than all +the radiance of topaz, jacinth, sapphire and +amethyst is the assurance—“There shall be no +more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither +shall there be any more pain . . . and there +shall be no more curse: but the Throne of God +and of the Lamb shall be in it; and His servants +shall serve Him: and they shall see His Face.”</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>At this season of new-bursting life we, too, +catch a glimpse of the Beyond, and underlying +all our delight in the material beauty of spring, +is there not the still deeper joy arising from the +promise it brings of greater beauty yet unfulfilled—beauty +that transcends all earthly imaginings? +The heart, whether conscious of it or not,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> +assuredly finds comfort in the reminder of the +Resurrection that Nature whispers wheresoever +we may turn.</p> + +<p>It is no mere haphazard chance that Easter +falls about the time of the blossoming of the +bare blackthorn bough.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>One very satisfying feature of the landscape, +about this part of the river side, is the sight of +the cottages, yellow-washed or white, that seem +literally to nestle in the hollows on the hillside. +While crowded streets hold no charm for me, +and modern mansions leave me unmoved, there +is something very appealing about a little homestead +standing in its own bit of garden, with its +couple of beehives beside a towering sunflower, +its few gnarled apple trees, its cow and hayrick +maybe, if there is a bit of pasture land about the +cottage that has been redeemed by the hardest +of labour from the rocky hillside, its fowls +clucking about on the fringe of the small +holding, its wood pile, its cabbages and marrows +and rhubarb and black currants, all according to +the season, its hedge draped with washing—too +white ever to have come into touch with that +modern improvement the steam laundry. In +looking at all this, you are looking for the most +part at the total worldly wealth of the cottager, +wealth, too, that has often been acquired by the +genuine sweat of his (and her) brow. It may<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> +not seem much to you when you run your eye +over it; but it speaks of home in a way that no +city dwelling has ever yet attained to. Here is +not merely shelter, or just a place wherein to +spend the night; it is the very centre of life to +the inmates; the major portion of their food is +either growing in, or running about, the garden. +The side of bacon on the rack in the kitchen +came from their own pigsty; the potatoes, the +onions, the swedes in the outhouse grew from +their own planting; the big yellow vegetable +marrows hanging up in the kitchen, and the pots +of black currant and plum jam in the cupboard, +originated in their garden. The little plot is +endeared to them because it provides them with +the necessities of life, and the dwellers in the +cottages live very close to the fundamental +things that really matter, even though they may +lack some of the items that over-civilization has +ticketed the refinements of life.</p> + +<p>And after a winter in town spent in a stern +wrestle for coal, potatoes, butter and milk and +bacon and many of the other necessities of life, +it is bliss indeed to land in this haven of sufficiency, +where queues are unknown, and where +the cow and the hen do their duty in life each +according to her station, and the garden and the +forests do much of the rest!</p> + +<p>Even then, one has not gone to the root of +the matter. Many of these cottages are the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> +ancestral homes of the people who live in them, +homes that were literally wrested from the hillside +by the forefathers of those who are now +living in them. And in such cases the roots go +far deeper than the surface soil. An ancestral +home, no matter how small, can mean more to +the inmates than the most gorgeous pile that +the newly-rich millionaire can raise.</p> + +<p>And to my mind, by no means the least of +the many hideous sins for which the Germans +will ultimately be called to account at the +world’s Bar of Justice, will be the violation of +the homes, the landmarks, and the ancient birthrights +of unoffending peoples, while they themselves +sat smug and sanctimonious under their +own vines and fig trees, self-complacent in the +knowledge that they were protected from +deserved retribution by their devil-driven guns.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>When at last we reached the little white +gate, leading into the cottage garden, we stood +for a moment, as we always do, and looked at +the peak beyond peak, and the deep lying +valleys.</p> + +<p>Sloping away from our very feet were our +own orchards and coppices, the bright lichen on +the twisted old apple trees showing almost a +blue-green against the purple of the bare birch +tree branches still lower down.</p> + +<p>The sun was dropping behind the larches<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> +that ridged the opposite hills. Birds everywhere +were explaining to each other that they must—they +really <i>must</i>—set about house-hunting the +very first thing in the morning.</p> + +<p>Out in the lane, the mountain spring was +over-full and singing a riotous song of jubilation +as it tumbled out of the little wooden trough +into the pool below, and tore away down into +the valley.</p> + +<p>“It’s a marvellous world,” said Virginia as +we gazed at the vast panorama that stretched +before us; and then she added, “Do you know, +I’ve come to the conclusion that I prefer a +spring of water outside the gate to all the stop-cocks +and water-mains in the world.”</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Next morning a letter from the Head of +Affairs skipped airily over the episode of his +meeting with the builder, concentrating on the +point that I was to stay where I was, as he +would join me in a few days. But Ursula +supplied the missing details.</p> + +<p>“After I saw you off at Paddington,” she +wrote, “I hurried back as fast as I could; I felt +that I should at least like to see if the four +outside walls remained of what was once your +happy home. Because, though we didn’t let +you know, the builder confided to me, as you +were leaving, that he had discovered the whole +front of the house was in a most shocking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> +condition, necessitating prompt ‘shoring-up’ +(whatever that may mean), and requiring to be +underpinned immediately. But by the time I +reached the place where your gates ought to have +been—but weren’t—I found the Head of Affairs +(he’d sent a wire as soon as he landed in +England, but it evidently never reached you) +bestowing as much gratuitous eloquence on the +builder and the Water Company as would have +run an election. What did he say? Why, +everything that is in the English language, and +in a hundred different keys! Sometimes he +singled out some separate ‘official,’ and gave it +him, personally, in considerable detail.</p> + +<p>“His analysis of the private character of the +builder was nothing short of an epic; and as for +the turncock!—what he said about turncocks +was a revelation to an unsuspecting ratepayer +like myself—No, it might be as well not to +repeat it; but I feel sure that turncock won’t +call, with a long double knock, for a Christmas-box +next December. Indeed, his remarks on +the mental capacity of every single person +employed by the Water Company lead me to +think that your family won’t be really popular +with the Metropolitan Water Board for some +time to come!</p> + +<p>“And then, when he had said everything +that could possibly be said about each man +standing there, and about water and pipes and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> +stop-cocks and gravel and pavement and suchlike +things, he announced his intention of going on +the roof to inspect where the builder proposed +to put the pile of new slates.</p> + +<p>“Now it’s a funny thing, but that builder was +not nearly so pressing that he should go up and +see for himself, as he was when talking to you. +But he insisted, and once up, he started all over +again, and made such forceful comments on the +subject of slates—and more especially the men +who put on the slates—that I was afraid they +would come through the roof.</p> + +<p>“Well, I don’t think I ever saw a more +wilted-looking blossom than that builder when +he was finally had inside and given his marching +orders. Even before the two had descended +from the roof, the embroidered men were +hurriedly toppling the earth back into the +trenches. I believe they’ve had twenty-four +hours allowed them to get things put to rights +again. And I think they will hurry, for they +don’t seem anxious for more of the master’s +society than is absolutely necessary. At any +rate, he seemed quite able to manage matters +without any assistance from me, and so I left it +in his hands, and I’m coming down by the +next train.”</p> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>V<br /> + +<small>Just Outside the +Back-Door</small></h2> + + +<p class="unindent">There is one spot in the Flower-Patch that is +loved by grown-ups as well as birds. It is the +little grotto that is just outside the cottage back-door. +It has made itself by making the best of +circumstances. Can I describe it so that you +will see it, I wonder?</p> + +<p>First there comes a narrow garden bed, +full of old-fashioned flowers—Bee-balm, Jacob’s +Ladder, and Solomon’s Seal; then a rough stone +wall about two feet high keeps the earth above +from tumbling down on to the narrow bed below. +The whole of the garden being on a steeply +sloping hillside, the earth has to be propped up +at intervals by these lovely little ranks of natural +rockery, planted by Nature with hart’s-tongue +and a variety of other little ferns, with mother-of-millions +and creeping ivy, with stone-crop and +house-leeks. How <i>do</i> the things get there? How +do they plant themselves? Isn’t it marvellous +this unending gardening of Nature!</p> + +<p>On a level with the top of the low wall is +another garden bed. You see the ground is rising, +rising up to the clouds all the time at the back<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> +of the cottage, just as it is falling, falling down +to the river in the valley all the time in front of +the cottage. This next terrace bed loses itself +entirely in a miniature wild wood and drops +down into a tiny dell, just big enough for a +couple of small children to give a tea-party to +the fairies in.</p> + +<p>Here it is that the beauty of the whole place +seems to climax. The other side of the dell is +bounded by a large grey boulder, about six feet +high, flanked by a few smaller ones tumbling +about at various angles. The stone was too big +for the original gardener to move, so he wisely +left it where it was. They often do that on +these hills. I know one cottage that has a most +substantial stone table in the centre of the +kitchen. It is just a huge stone that was too +big to move by ordinary methods when they +erected the cottage, and so they simply left it, +and built the kitchen round it.</p> + +<p>But my boulder in the grotto is not so much +for use as for beauty. True, it supports a plum +tree that springs up from behind it, just outside +the orchard rails. But the way Nature has +festooned that rock is worth going a long way +to study. From the ground at one side springs +a wild rose with stout stems that grow fairly +straight and erect, considering it is a wild rose, +and this sends out long curved and arched sprays, +dotted with pink blossoms.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p> + +<p>At the other side is a yellow jasmine, evidently +a stray from the garden.</p> + +<p>The stone itself is thickly covered with moss, +small-leaved ivy (and isn’t small-leaved ivy lovely +in its colouring very often, in the early months +of the year, some brown and yellow, some red +and green?) and little ferns, till scarcely a trace +of the grey stone can be seen, and where it does +push through it is splashed with milky-green +lichen.</p> + +<p>Then wandering over all is a wealth of honeysuckle +that catches hold of everything impartially, +and twines itself in all directions. At the base +of the precipitous boulder the grass is thick and +green; violets, the big purple-blue scented sort, +cluster all around the corners, and hold up rich-looking +blossoms; primroses laugh out in the +sunshine; snowdrops dingle their bells to a +delightful melody, if only our ears were more +delicately tuned to catch the music; daffodils +blow their own trumpets above their clumps of +blue-green leaves; the ground-ivy creeps and +creeps and lights up the green with its lovely +blue flowers that have never received half the +praise that is their due. And in a damp spot +there is a mass of blue forget-me-nots, with one +clump that is pure white.</p> + +<p>Large ferns send up giant fronds to make +cool shadows at one end. Tiny ferns busy themselves +with the decoration of odd corners. A<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> +hazel bush reaches over and joins hands with the +plum tree, to form a fitting roof to so lovely a +dell; as I write—in February—it is a mass of +fluttering catkins, and the plum tree is talking +about shaking out a few flowers. But without +these the place is already full of blossoms.</p> + +<p>In a month or six weeks the old trees in the +orchard behind will be like bouquets of pink and +white blossoms.</p> + +<p>You approach the grotto by a tiny path, +about wide enough for a child; the entrance to +the path is marked by a stunted old bush of +lavender at one side, and a grey-green clump of +sage at the other. They stand, with stems +twisted and rugged like gnomes, guarding the +entrance to the fairy’s playground; but if you +rub them the right way they send up a lovely +fragrance, and then you know you are admitted +to the freedom of the enchanted spot.</p> + +<p>It is so sheltered in this corner, and protected +from the cold winds by the high hill behind, that +even the ferns from last year are green and +fresh-looking, you would think there had not +been any winter here. And the brambles that +clamber over the orchard rail—assuring the world +at large that they are a highly respectable +orchard-grown fruit tree, and not a wild weed—are +still green and crimson and a rich purple +with the lovely tints of last autumn.</p> + +<p>The birds are fond of this grotto, and other<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> +wild things have found it out. Last summer, +when the boulder seemed to be dripping with +large juicy crimson honeysuckle berries, I watched +a big bullfinch gorging to his heart’s content, his +red waistcoat mingling well with the red of the +berries. Mrs. Bullfinch was also there, in her +less obtrusive grey and browny-black dress, and +she had a couple of youngsters too. But do +you think the father had any intention of sharing +the delicacies? Not a bit of it! Every time +his wife approached from the rear surreptitiously +to snatch a berry, he turned round and drove +her off (I really could have pardoned her if she +had joined the suffragettes on the spot). She +ranged her family along the orchard rail just +above, and made various attempts to forage for +them. But it was no use. So she took up her +position beside the family on the rail and waited +patiently, making plaintive sounds the while, +till Mr. Bully had stuffed to repletion and flew +away. I was glad there were a few hundred +berries still left for the family. And didn’t they +have a good time!</p> + +<p>Just now the blue tits are very busy about +the fruit trees, and a robin comes out from somewhere +in the grotto at unexpected moments and +stands motionless on a stone, with a bright eye +cocked up inquiringly at the human intruder. +I fancy he has chosen it for his summer residence.</p> + +<p>A squirrel is very attached to this part of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> +the garden. Sometimes one sees him, when the +nuts are ripe, scurrying along the orchard rail in +ever such a hurry, his chestnut-red tail bigger +than himself. There are specially good nuts on +that hazel-tree.</p> + +<p>This morning I went out of the back-door, +to find a large rabbit sitting and sunning himself +at his ease among the snowdrops and violets in +the little dell—within a yard of the door.</p> + +<p>The weather has been like April to-day, +brilliant sunshine and heavy showers. Suddenly +the sky behind the cottage was lit up with a +rainbow—a glorious span of colour that seemed +to be resting on the hill-top. Then it dropped +a bit lower at one end, and the big pine trees +that stand higher up at the top of the orchard +looked most majestic against it. Lower it +seemed to drop, and then I distinctly saw the +place where it touched the ground. You know +they say there is a pot of gold buried at the end +of the rainbow—where do you think that rainbow +pointed? Why, straight at my fairy dell! +So I know there is gold buried under that +boulder, and that is why there is always sunshine +peeping through the green; first it comes out in +the yellow jasmine, then it flares in the daffodils, +later you find it in the dancing buttercups and +in the lovely honeysuckle, finally it waves to +you a bright “Good-bye, Summer,” in the clump +of golden-rod that is near the entrance.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>VI<br /> + +<small>Dwellers in the +Flower-Patch</small></h2> + + +<p class="unindent">February on our hills may be anything—from +September round to May. Sometimes it is +mild and sunny and sweet with the scent of +newly-turned earth; or it may be bitingly cold, +and very bleak in the exposed parts, with a +shivery-ness even in the valleys. You just take +your chance, sure, at least, of fresh air, peace—and +the birds.</p> + +<p>That is one of the perennial joys of the place; +summer or winter you know there will be a host +of little fluttering things all ready to welcome +you as a friend, if you will but show the least +bit of friendliness towards them.</p> + +<p>Not that their greeting is entirely cordial +when you arrive. The starlings are probably +the first to see you; they are arrant busybodies, +and seem to spend most of their time retailing +gossip from the ridge of the red-tiled roof. No +wonder their nests are the lazy make-shifts +they are!</p> + +<p>A perfect scandal to the bird world, Mrs. +Missel-Thrush has told me; it’s a wonder the +sanitary authorities don’t insist on their being +pulled down and rebuilt! Anything, stuffed in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> +anywhere; a handful of straw in the chimney; +dried grass and oddments of rubbish collected in +a corner under the tiles; you wouldn’t think any +self-respecting egg would consent to be hatched +out in such a nest!—certainly no young thrush +would put up with so disreputable a nursery. +But then, as we all know, the thrushes come of +very good family; whereas the starlings!—well—not +that one would say a word against one’s +neighbours, but since everyone can see and hear +it for themselves, the starlings are simply +“impossible.”</p> + +<p>But the starlings don’t seem to be the least +bit worried by the cold shoulder of the more +exclusive residents; they gabble and bawl the +whole day long, from the top of the roof, while +the one who has managed to secure the apex of +the weathercock is positively insulting. And +the moment we turn into the little white gate, +they begin.</p> + +<p>“See who’s down there? I say, everybody, +look! There’s that wretched white dog again! +Remember what a perfect nuisance he was last +August, when we’d just got the youngsters out +of the nest? We were afraid every moment +lest he would start to climb the trees like their +old cat used to. Hi! there, you on the barn-roof! +Have you heard the news?” Shriek, +shriek! chatter, chatter, chatter! So they go +on for hours at a time.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then policeman-robin arrives. “What’s all +this noise about?” he demands, from the post of +the gate leading into the upper orchard. “Oh, +good gracious! it’s that horrid white dog again! +Nearly shoved his nose right into our nest in the +woodruff bank last year! Chit! chit! chit! +But don’t you worry, my dear” (this to the lady +he has just married); “I’ll drive him away; you +can trust to me,” and he flicks his conceited +little tail, and flies to the top of a tree stump +near by, still calling out his “Chit! chit! chit!” +in severe reprimand.</p> + +<p>Next the blackbird, hunting for a little fresh +meat among the grey, mossed-over stones that +edge the garden beds, raises his head and cranes +his neck above the overhanging heart’s-ease +trails, and the foliage of the pinks, to see what +the commotion is all about.</p> + +<p>“I say, Martha!” (to the demure body in +brown, who has been meekly tracking along +behind him), “there’s that terror of a dog again! +Recollect when he was here last year? Never a +chance to enjoy a snail in peace; before you’d +given the shell more than one tap on the stone, +down he’d rush. Here he comes now! Slip +along quick to the laurels. I say, that was a +near shave! Chut! chut! chut! Go away! +What business have you to come here disturbing +respectable old inhabitants like us?”</p> + +<p>And so the hubbub continues, while the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> +small white dog with the brown ears trots in a +business-like manner all over the place, making +sure that every corner-stone, and bush, and +gate-post is just where he left it last time. And +having ascertained that the universe is still +intact, he sets off to a particular spot in the +lower orchard, sniffs about till he finds the identical +tuft of grass he is searching for; whereupon +he eats, and eats, at the long green blades, much +in the same way as we fall on the young lettuces, +or the black currants, or whatever else may be +in season when we come down. Though why +this particular tuft of grass should be the only +one he selects out of the acres and acres at his +disposal, is always a mystery to us. Yet he +never forgets it; straight for that small patch in +the middle of the big orchard he makes, once he +has done his tour of inspection round the estate.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Before I have been in the house half-an-hour, +I start making overtures to the birds, and they +immediately respond. I proceed by way of the +bird-board.</p> + +<p>This may need explanation.</p> + +<p>Outside one of the living-room windows I +have established a board that projects about a +foot beyond the wide window-ledge. At first I +had it resting on the window-ledge, but I found +that the birds were down out of sight, when +they came up to feed, hidden by the sash and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> +window-frame. Therefore I had it raised to +bring it exactly on a level with the glass. It +is fixed securely on supports, so that it won’t +blow away, neither would a flock of jays and +wood-pigeons overbalance it. A couple of stout +bits of tree branches have been fixed upright at +the sides; these are very popular, as they make +the board look less bare, more tree-like and +familiar to the birds. They love to alight on +a branch, before going down to feed, and they +often return to the branch when they have eaten +their fill, saucing their relations and daring them +to touch a morsel of the food, which each bird +seems to consider its own exclusive property! +Strips of narrow lath have been nailed to the +outside edges of the board, projecting about +an inch above the level of the board. This +wooden rim saves the food from rolling off, or +blowing away too easily; it also gives the birds +a little perch that they love to stand on while +they run their eyes over the menu.</p> + +<p>On this board—in times of plenty—go +crumbs, seed, rolled oats, maize, peas, little bits +of fat or suet, anything in fact that birds will +eat; and if the weather be cold, a lump of suet +will be lashed to each branch, for the tits to +peck at, with occasional bunches of bacon rind, +hanging like tassels.</p> + +<p>In war-time the birds just have to take what +they can get.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p> + +<p>Within twenty-four hours of our arrival, the +birds have re-discovered their food board, and +over they come, from garden and adjoining +orchards and woods, with such a whirring of +wings, directly they hear the window being +opened. In the apple tree, in the laburnum tree, +in the damson tree they wait, and the moment I +move away from the window, down they pounce, +and such a squabbling and chatter and succession +of arguments takes place. In a few days’ +time, as they get more used to me, they flutter +down before I have even spread out their meal, +perching on the edge of the board and eyeing +me with the most audacious nerve. The robin +is positively impudent in his demand that I +should hurry up!</p> + +<p>And it is not longer than a week before they +come hopping right into the room, hunting all +over the breakfast table if the window be left +open, and I have not been down sufficiently +early to meet their requirements. If the days +are cold, and outside food scarce, they tap the +window sharply with their beaks, to call attention +to their needs, while plaintive, appealing little +faces look anxiously at me.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>And oh, they are such a pretty little crowd. +One has no idea what clear, beautifully bright +colour our British birds can show, unless one +has seen them right away from the taint of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> +smoke and grime. Town environments, be they +ever so rural, are always reminiscent of the +chimneys in the distance, or the railways that +cut them up. But on these hills, where cottage +chimneys are very few and far between, and +what smoke there is, is usually wood smoke, +some of the birds are exceedingly lovely.</p> + +<p>There is the great-tit, brilliantly yellow as a +daffodil, with an admixture of black velvet and +pure white; he and his wife quite take your +breath away as they splash down, out of space, +and flitter about among the sober thrushes and +darker blackbirds. And when, in the summer, +they bring their babies along with them, I +don’t think there is a prettier sight in creation +than the little bluey-grey balls of fluff, that +peck daintily at the bits of suet, and then hiss +vigorously and scold at the big wasps that come +and steal it from under their very beaks! So +tame and innocent of fear they are, that they +come into the room whenever the window is left +open; and mother and father follow them, quite +as trustfully.</p> + +<p>Then again, we all think we know the blue-tit; +but when you see him in the wilds he is a +very different-looking morsel from the dirty-blue +apology you meet nearer town. On the +bird-board, he is almost metallic in the brightness +of his blue-green feathers, and the lovely +tint of yellow. He raises his crest feathers, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> +pleasure, when he sees the suet on the branch; +and over the little acrobat goes, hanging head +downwards or clinging with one tiny claw to a +piece of twig; it is all one to him, he swings +about like a bright enamel pendant.</p> + +<p>The male chaffinch is another very gay little +fellow, with his warm red and pretty blue and +yellow. He calls “Spink, spink,” in clear +penetrating notes, as he lands on the board; and +up comes his wife—one of the most shapely and +elegant of all the small birds, with the dearest +little face!</p> + +<p>Mr. and Mrs. Bullfinch invariably come +together, unless she is detained at home with the +family. They perch on the edge of the drinking +saucer, side by side, like a pair of solemn +paroquets; he, very beautiful in crimson and +black velvet; she, decidedly more homely and +nondescript.</p> + +<p>But I can’t go through the whole list, there +is such a crowd—including a little flock of eight +goldfinches that for two winters have always +been about the garden together.</p> + +<p>Jays, with their handsome wing feathers and +ugly, very ugly, mouths, swoop down continually, +scaring the small birds to vanishing point, and +gobbling up the food by the shovelful! Magpies +in plenty perch on the garden rails, but only +once has one come to the board when I have +been there, and then he got his tail so mixed up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> +with the decorative branches, that he had the +fright of his life, and never repeated the +adventure.</p> + +<p>Wood pigeons are regular in their attendance, +when other food is scarce. Oh, certainly, I +know all that is to be said on the subject of +encouraging wood pigeons! But—have you +ever studied the peacock and wine-colour gleam +on their necks, when unsmirched by smoke or +grime? If so, you will understand my admiration +for them. And, in any case, ours isn’t a +farming area; there is no corn here for them to +squander, and although they sigh all summer +long, in the fir trees, “Take <i>two</i> pears, Tommy! +Take <i>two</i> pears, Tommy!—<i>do!</i>” there are very +few pears available that Tommy would even look +at; most that grow in the orchards around are +the harsh, bitter variety, used for making the +drink known as “perry” (the pear equivalent of +apple cider).</p> + +<p>The wood pigeons have helped me back to +health and strength many a time, with their soft +crooning in the larches, and their quiet talk of +things above the petty strife and noisy clamour +of the struggling market place. Therefore, I +don’t say them nay, in times of plenty, if I have +a little to spare, and they chance to need it.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Of all the bird family, however, I think the +coal-tits are our favourites—and there are <i>such</i> a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> +quantity of them. Coal-tits always abound in +the neighbourhood of larch woods and birches, +which accounts for the numbers that dart about +my garden; there are birch woods lower down +the hill below the cottage, as well as the larch +woods up above; and both birch and larch +cluster thick down one side of the house to +shield it from the cold winds.</p> + +<p>Though the coal-tit is not brightly-coloured, +like its relations, there is something very +delightful about his soft grey garb, and his +black head with its light grey or nearly white +streak down the back. Like the robin, he +always looks well-tailored, not a feather out of +place, not a draggled filament anywhere. And +he is so extraordinarily alert; he doesn’t seem to +give himself time to fly, he darts and dives and +flits all over the place, and seems to have an +appetite proportionately equal to that of the +proverbial alderman.</p> + +<p>Down he dives the minute the food appears. +He stands very erect on his slim little legs (no +squatting down on his breast bone, as the +sparrows and even the chaffinches often do); +he cocks his head from side to side, promptly +decides on the largest lump of fat he can find; +seizes it, and flies up into a big fir tree, where, +apparently, he bolts the whole lump instantaneously! +At any rate, before you have time +to see where he alighted, down he dives, seizes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> +another big piece, and off he goes again. He +seems to eat twice his own size in suet in a few +minutes! But I conclude he must drop some +of it, though I’ve never been able to prove it. +And the theory of a nestful of hungry beaks +doesn’t always explain his voraciousness; for he +disposes of just as much in the winter as in +nesting time.</p> + +<p>Yet, in spite of his appetite, we love him, for +he is so tiny and so wonderfully alert; one +marvels how so much energy can be boxed up +in such a small body.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Visitors who have never had much to do +with birds at close quarters—and the birds may +be said to be part of the family at this cottage, +for they live with us and meal with us—are +usually surprised at the differences and the +distinctiveness of their various personalities.</p> + +<p>The robin not only adopts you at once, but +he proceeds to supervise your every action, and +instals himself as your personal attendant. +Probably this is all the more emphasized by the +fact that he will not allow any rival to encroach +on his particular territory. Most birds seem to +peg out a claim at the beginning of the season, +and to resent, more or less, the intrusion of any +other of its own kind. Swallows and sparrows +and rooks, and a few others, build in colonies, +but the majority of birds seem to prefer a little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> +domain each to himself, wife and family, and +you will find one pair of blackbirds driving +another from the laurel bush they have chosen, +or chasing strangers from the particular garden +path they call their own.</p> + +<p>Though starlings feed—and chatter—in flocks, +one particular pair of starlings make it their +business to oust any other starling that they find +on the bird board.</p> + +<p>But the robin can be a perfect terror in the +way he seeks to domineer over the whole earth. +It is a very large area that he marks off for his +individual own, and woe betide any other robin +who tries to defy him—unless he be the stronger +of the two. One of our robins killed his own +wife (we conclude, as she disappeared, after a +series of thrashings he gave her daily!), and then +he injured the wing of one of his own youngsters, +because we had petted them, and given them +food inside the living room.</p> + +<p>The father used to hide behind a stone down +on the garden bed, and watch as his family—the +mother and two babies—nervously and timidly +approached the bird-board, looking round +anxiously lest father should see! Then, when +they started to feed, he would hiss out the +dreadfullest of wicked words at them, and fling +himself on them, bashing them with his beak—a +positive little fury.</p> + +<p>So one day I put some food on the table<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> +inside the room, and the down-trodden ones +hopped in. I shut the window before the irate +father could follow them. He seemed demented +with rage, when he saw them feeding and +couldn’t get at them; he literally stamped his +foot, and viciously tossed off all the pieces of +food that were on the board, flinging them to +the ground in a most highly-glazed specimen of +temper!</p> + +<p>I let the family out by a side window, +instead of the bird-board window, and they +evaded their loving and affectionate relative for +a little while. But he found them at last; and +went for his wife, while the children cheeped +forlornly among the pansies in the border. We +never saw her again, poor, plucky little soul; +and one of the youngsters dragged a broken +wing along the path next day, explaining to me, +pitifully, that he couldn’t possibly get up to the +bird-board now, neither could he find mother +anywhere.</p> + +<p>I took him in, and tried to save his life—but +it was no use. With all our knowledge and +skill and discoveries and training, what clumsy, +inadequate creatures we are in comparison with +a little mother bird!</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Less harrowing was the incident of a robin +who, on one occasion, came inside, in order to +get more than his share of provender if possible,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> +when he was suddenly startled by the dog +running into the room. Instead of flying +through the window that was open, he made +for a closed one, banging his head with such +force against the glass that the blow stunned +him, and he fell senseless to the ground.</p> + +<p>I picked him up, and tried all the restoratives +I could think of, a drop of water on his beak, a +cold splash on his head, but to no purpose; he +lay, just a tiny handful of beautiful feathers, in +my hand; so light, so helpless, so altogether +pathetic—it hurt me badly to gaze at the small +mite that only the minute before had been +talking to me, and cheeking me, and liking me +(yes, I am sure he did), and I unable now to do +a thing to bring back the gaiety and life and +sparkle to the poor still body.</p> + +<p>I felt sure he was dead, yet to give him every +chance, I placed him in a nest of soft flannel +out on the window-ledge; the day was warm, +but there was a breeze that might perhaps revive +him. And as a last offering—one does so try to +do all one can!—I put a tempting piece of suet +near his inanimate beak. And how unnatural it +seemed to see that suet remain untouched in his +vicinity!</p> + +<p>I took my work and sat where I could see +if he so much as stirred a claw. But for a +quarter of an hour there wasn’t the slightest +sign of movement, except when the wind gently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> +ruffled his feathers—and how exquisite they +were, the blue so unlike the ordinary blue, the +red much more red than the London robins, and +the bronze-brown so glinting.</p> + +<p>At last I decided it was useless to watch any +longer, for his eyelids had never so much as +flickered.</p> + +<p>I was folding up my work, when a big +yellow tit flew on to the window ledge, hopped +over inquiringly to the suet, and started to +sample it. In an instant up jumped the corpse, +and with an angry “Chit! chit!” hurled himself +at the interloper; and the last I saw of him +was chasing the yellow tit all across the garden.</p> + +<p>Don’t ask me to explain; I am only telling +you what happened under my own eyes.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Yes, robin <i>père</i> can be a villain; he also can +be the extreme reverse. Like the majority of +the rest of us, he shows to the most amiable +advantage when there is no rival to distract +public admiration. So long as he is the centre, +as well as the beginning and the end, of the bird +universe, he is sweetness itself.</p> + +<p>No other bird is so keenly alive to all my +comings and goings. It doesn’t matter how +fully occupied he may be with the settlement of +every other bird’s affairs, I have but to go up +the garden with fork or spade or broom, and +before I have turned half-a-dozen clods, or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> +pulled out a handful of weeds, I am conscious of +a soft streak through the air, though I hardly +see it; there he sits on a low branch of a currant +bush close to my hand, or stands motionless on +an edging stone at my very feet. If I take no +notice of him, in all probability he starts a +Whisper Song to call attention to himself.</p> + +<p>Have you ever heard this? It suggests +nothing so much as elf-land music; I know no +song exactly like it. You seem to hear a bird +warbling most delightfully, but it is far, far +away. You raise your eyes, and scan the trees +around, but no singing bird can you discover; +you decide it must be farther off—but what a +haunting charm there is about it.</p> + +<p>Then it ceases. Mr. Robin is hoping that +you have understood what he has been saying. +But no, the obtuse human just goes on weeding +the path as before; so the Whisper Song starts +again. This time you think it resembles a very +mellow musical box shut up in some distant +room.</p> + +<p>Suddenly you see him, singing straight at +you, so close to your hand that it gives you quite +an uncanny feeling for the moment; and you +wonder: Who is he—what is he—that he should +be saying all this to me, obviously to me, and to +no one else but me?</p> + +<p>Robin doesn’t encourage you in daydreams, +however, he means business; and once he sees<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> +that he has secured your undivided attention, he +discards the Whisper Song and comes to the +point. Down on to the path he drops, seizes an +unwary worm that your energy has brought to +light; then tosses it over scornfully and flirts a +contemptuous tail, which says as plainly as any +tale that was ever told, “Is <i>that</i> the best worm +you can offer a gentleman? Pouf!”</p> + +<p>He eats it nevertheless.</p> + +<p>And so he follows me round the place; I +never garden alone. If at first I cannot see +him, I whistle a quiet call; invariably I hear the +Whisper Song in response, and there he is—waiting, +watching, missing nothing, with his +tiny throat feathers vibrating and quivering as +he strives to let me into bird-land secrets, and +tells me lots and lots of wonderful things that as +yet I am too dull-witted to understand.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Then there are the blackbirds—for individuality +they are hard to beat; though I admit they +are always reproving someone or something, with +their “Chutter, chut, chut!”</p> + +<p>I never knew a bird with as many grudges +and grievances as Augustus seems to have. He +“chut-chuts” at me if I’m late with his breakfast, +at Abigail when she ventures to gather a +few raspberries, at the dog whenever he sees +him, at the little colt for scampering down the +meadow, at the cuckoo when his voice breaks—I’ve<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> +heard him get up after all the family had +gone to bed, and roundly abuse a poor July +cuckoo who had developed a bad stutter—and +every night about sundown he admonishes the +world in general, from his pulpit in a pine, +despite the fact that Martha has put the children +to bed and is trying to get them to sleep, and +that every other masculine blackbird for acres +round is discoursing on the same subject.</p> + +<p>But the poor thing has had his troubles. +The first time we really distinguished Augustus +and Martha (who monopolise my bedroom +window ledge, and the pinks and pansy border) +from Claude and Juliet (who patronise the +biggest mountain ash, and consider the white +and red currants and the snails in the snapdragon +bed their particular perquisites) was +when the former (that means Augustus and +Martha, you know) built in the old plum tree +that hangs partly over the green and gold +grotto. Though it has plenty of snowy-white +flowers on its dark stems in the spring, it has +been too neglected to produce much fruit; +but it makes up in flowering ivy and heavenly-scented +honeysuckle for any other deficiencies. +And it was in this tangled mass of loveliness +that Augustus and Martha first set up housekeeping. +(Augustus being always recognizable +by reason of one grey feather.)</p> + +<p>They chose it with much circumspection—Martha<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> +with an eye to the easy building +facilities offered by strands of tough woodbine, +and sturdy ivy cables, combined with stout +plum branches; Augustus with his main eye +focussed on the bird-board, and the other on the +accessibility of the bird-bath (originally a sheep-trough +hollowed out of a block of rough stone, +over which moss and small ivy are now trailing).</p> + +<p>Altogether it was a most desirable site for a +young couple. They were in full view of the +side window in the living room, and we watched +them flying in and out, to and fro, with beaks +laden with grass and straw and similar materials +for household decorations.</p> + +<p>Later on, when two youngsters were hatched, +there were the same endless journeyings, the +same loaded beaks. But here Augustus’s perspicacity +stood him in good stead; it was a very +short flight from the plum tree down to the +bird-board, and the pair must have nearly worn +the air out, judging by the number of times +they made the trip!</p> + +<p>The tragedy happened when the youngsters +were nearly ready to leave the nest. And the +sad part of it was that we saw it all enacted before +our eyes, and yet were powerless to prevent it.</p> + +<p>We had just sat down to our mid-day meal; +the day seemed all blue sky and bright flowers +and gladdening sunshine—the very last day one +ought to have met trouble.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span></p> + +<p>Augustus had gone off to give Claude a +piece of his mind that must have been owing for +some time, judging by the heat and length of +his harangue; Martha was gathering up the +biggest mouthful she could manage (and it is +astonishing how they will collect several pieces +of bread, a piece of fat and a flake of oatmeal, +packing it up securely in their beak, in order to +carry it safely).</p> + +<p>I saw a big bird swoop down on to the +branch beside the nest; but big birds are so +plentiful with us, it conveyed nothing out of the +ordinary to me. It looked like a shrike, but I +couldn’t be certain. Everything happened so +quickly. It seized one of the little ones, killed +it outright with one vicious toss, while the +other baby called out in wild terror.</p> + +<p>In far less time than it takes me to write this, +the whole air seemed teeming with screaming +blackbirds, dozens of them. They went for the +murderer, trying to attack him with their beaks; +but he flew off into the woods, followed by a +crowd of threatening and bewailing birds; one +could hear them in the distance when they were +no longer in sight.</p> + +<p>Of course we had all rushed out into the +garden; but we could do nothing; the nest was +too high up to be reached without a ladder.</p> + +<p>Then an unusual silence fell over the +garden; the majority of the birds having joined<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> +the crowd of pursuers. It is strange how +we all bury our hatchets in face of a common +danger!</p> + +<p>It seemed almost death-like for the moment, +till, from the top of a larch, a chaffinch bubbled +forth. At least there was one happy bird left. +Then I bethought me about baby-blackbird No. 2. +The villain had only carried off one. We got a +ladder, but no bird was in the nest!</p> + +<p>We decided it must have fallen out in the +scrimmage, and searched carefully. After a +while we found it, helpless and terrified, among +the ferns, just where it had fallen, in the grotto.</p> + +<p>As it didn’t seem able to walk or fly, we left +it there, and sat down to watch events. Back +came poor Martha presently. She looked in +the nest, then flew distractedly about. But I +suppose the baby was too dazed with fright to +do a thing, at any rate it never uttered a sound +or call; and the distressed mother flew off again +to the woods on her hopeless quest.</p> + +<p>We remained on watch the whole afternoon +and evening; but neither parent returned. +Then I began to get anxious. I put a little +food near the frightened crouching thing, but +it took no notice. Only once it gave a piteous +cry; how I wished it would keep it up! That +at least would surely reach the mother in time. +But it didn’t repeat the call.</p> + +<p>At last we had to go in, because it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> +getting dark, and every bird but our poor little +baby was safely in bed. We tried to console +ourselves by saying that it would probably be +all right, and it was wonderful how birds survived +all sorts of dangers. But, all the same, +we none of us believed we should ever see him +again; and we shook our heads silently next +morning, when we found an empty space under +the ferns, where we had left him overnight.</p> + +<p>During the day, my suspicions were aroused +by the fact that Augustus returned again and +again to the bird-board and stuffed his beak full +of provender, which he carried off in the good +old way. But the moment I tried to follow +him, he merely went into a near-by tree, and +tried to say “Chut! chut!” with his mouth full!</p> + +<p>It took me all the afternoon, and used up all +the stealth and cautiousness I possess, to track +him. He would not fly any more than he could +help; he kept right down on the ground, +running along with his head slightly lowered, +keeping close to the shadow of the wall, slipping +under hedges and low growths, always looking +about from side to side, standing stock still +when he scented danger—in this way he got up +the hill, and right across a field, to where a big +Wellingtonia stands like a pyramid, against a +stone wall, its outspreading branches drooping +protectingly, and hiding all sorts of secrets in its +dark green depths.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span></p> + +<p>Behold, there was Martha, anxiously waiting +on the doorstep, so to speak, for Augustus to +return. She was as cautious in her movements +as he was, but she couldn’t help uttering a low +“Chut! chut!” of pleasure when she saw his +beak so crammed with good things. Both +slipped in under the lowest branch.</p> + +<p>I bided my time. I didn’t want to add one +single extra anxiety to the little mother heart +that was already so burdened with care. But +when at length I saw both birds slink off in +search of food, I parted the branches and looked +in. For some time I could see nothing, it was +so dark and mysterious under the heavily plumed +boughs, but the little one had learnt to use its +voice by now; “Cheep” came vigorously from +within; and then I saw our baby comfortably +ensconced on a drift of pine needles against +the wall.</p> + +<p>I slipped away quietly, wondering and wondering +how in the world those little birds had +managed to get that fat youngster up that hill +and into the tree that was fully three minutes’ +walk, even for me, from the old nest!</p> + +<p>The baby flourished apace, and before we +returned to town, it was brought along to the +pansy border, and told to stay there quite still +for a moment, while mother got it something to +eat. But it didn’t do anything of the sort; +directly her back was turned, it hopped into the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> +bird’s bath, and splashed joyously till its expostulating +parents returned, alarmed out of +their senses lest it should be drowned!</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>After thinking it over, I fancy that for all-round +serviceability you cannot do better than +the blackbird. He starts singing in January, +as a rule, and keeps at it till August, always a +beautiful song, but not always the same song.</p> + +<p>It is a clear-blue message of hope, as it rings +out on a cold winter’s day.</p> + +<p>As the spring progresses, it becomes a +cascade that overflows with bubbling sound and +ends with a challenge: “Let any blackbird dare +to say he can sing that cadenza as brilliantly as +I can, and I’ll know the reason why!”</p> + +<p>Later on, when the nestlings keep up a +constant demand for “more,” he only manages +to get in an occasional stanza; and that, I am +inclined to think, is when he has a difference of +opinion with another of his kind; though sometimes +he sings a rippling, pulsating song to the +setting sun.</p> + +<p>But best of all I love him when the summer +has run well on into July. He is getting tired +then; two families—possibly with four in the +nest at a time—are something of a handful to +cater for. He has become draggled and weary +in appearance. His yellow-ringed eyes do not +seem as sparkling as they were. But he still<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> +tries to do his best, and towards sundown you +may hear him singing; one of those in my +garden seems to have a preference for an underbough +on a tall pine, where he stands almost +hidden from sight, and whistles gently and +softly—though not to me personally, as the robin +does; apparently he is talking to himself.</p> + +<p>Gone is the buoyancy of his early spring +song; gone the self-assertiveness, the boastfulness +and dominating clamour of his early married +life. Now, his song is much subdued, gentler, +and strangely suggestive of a quiet, almost +saddened reminiscence.</p> + +<p>Is it that his family have failed to come up +to his expectations? Is his song tinged with +regret for the lost happiness of those first +glad days of spring? Or is it the reflection +of the tranquillity that comes to those who +bravely shouldered life’s responsibility when +the time came for leaving behind the things of +youth?</p> + +<p>Who knows what that subdued but exquisite +little song means, as it falls, like a rain of soft, +gentle sounds from the branches above?</p> + +<p>I cannot tell, but it stirs something strangely +responsive in my own heart; I sense far-back +things that I cannot take hold of, or put into +tangible shape, and for the moment I feel +mysteriously akin to the unseen singer in the +blue-green depths of the old and rugged pine.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>VII<br /> + +<small>Only Small Talk</small></h2> + + +<p class="unindent"><span class="smcap">I seem</span> to have wandered a long way from +Eileen, but it was really she who brought the +birds to my mind.</p> + +<p>I got up early the morning after our arrival, +in order to show her the way about, and because +it is not one of my daily duties to be the first +down in the morning, I noticed all the more how +the opening of the doors and windows, to let in +the day, is something much more than the mere +undoing of locks and latches. There is nothing +to compare with the inrush of sweet morning +air that greets you on the threshold, as you take +your first look-out on a dew-sparkling garden, +probably all alive with the songs and chirps and +twitters of the birds, and teeming with the +scents of things seen and unseen, each pouring +forth its gratitude in its own way for the ever-new +miracle of the sun’s return.</p> + +<p>This letting in of light and clean air, sunshine, +song and scent, after the inanimate +darkness of the night, is so wonderfully symbolic +that it seems a mistake that it has come to be +regarded as one of the inferior domestic tasks, relegated +to the minor members of the household. +And though I am not one of those exceptionally<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> +virtuous people who habitually rise at six o’clock, +waking every one else within earshot and taking +vain pride in their performances, whenever I +chance to be the first one to welcome the +morning and let in the day, I feel there are +decided compensations for the wrench of getting +out of bed minus a cup of tea.</p> + +<p>I also realize how easy it is, in the flush of +exhilaration produced by the early morning air, +to make oneself a nuisance to all who are less +energetic. For some unaccountable reason, +when I am down extra early, I always want to +bustle about, and do all sorts of rackety things +that never occur to me on the days when I +do not put in an appearance till breakfast is +ready.</p> + +<p>I had opened the windows in the living-room, +and had set Eileen to make the fire, and was +seeing to things in the kitchen, when she +followed me with an excited squawk: “Oh, +ma’am, there’s somebody has lost their canary! +It was on the window ledge just now, and it’s +flown into a tree. Have you got a bird-cage +handy? I expect I could catch it. There it is +again”—pointing to a handsome yellow and +black tit who was pecking eagerly at some +bacon rind I had just hung up outside the +window.</p> + +<p>I explained.</p> + +<p>“Wild, is he? <i>Wild?</i>” she exclaimed;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> +“and don’t they charge you nothing for +them?”</p> + +<p>She finished the room with one eye perpetually +on the windows.</p> + +<p>Having a healthy appetite, that had been +touched up a little extra with the hill-top air, +she was more than willing to help me get the +meal ready. I made the usual preliminary +inquiries as to her experience in regard to cooking, +and was surprised to hear that she had +actually won a silver medal at a Cookery Exhibition.</p> + +<p>Surely this was unexpected good fortune, and +I asked myself if I really deserved such a heaven-sent +boon as a silver-medalled cook! I decided, +however, that in view of all I had undergone in +the past at the hands of those who were not so +decorated, it was nothing more than my due +that I should be so blessed in my declining +years. My only regret was that war-time would +allow so little scope for her genius!</p> + +<p>Feeling very light-hearted, and wondering +how she would get on with Abigail when cook +gave one of her periodical notices and I placed +Eileen on the permanent staff, I said: “Then I +needn’t bother about the breakfast! We will +have poached eggs on toast. I’ll lay the cloth +while you get them ready.”</p> + +<p>But she looked at me doubtfully. “We +didn’t ever have <i>poached</i> eggs at the boarding-house,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> +she began. “But I think I know how +to do ’em. You just break them on the gridiron +over the top of the fire, don’t you?”</p> + +<p>After all, it was I who poached the eggs, +while Eileen explained that the medal had been +awarded to the cookery class at the orphanage +<i>en bloc</i>, for making a Swiss roll. . . . No, unfortunately, +she didn’t know how to make Swiss +roll either, as she had been down with scarlet +fever that term. Still, it was her class that got +the medal, so of course she had as much right to +it as anyone else.</p> + +<p>I trust I bore the disappointment complacently. +I’m fairly hardened to such sudden +drops in the kitchen thermometer.</p> + +<p>The great thing about Eileen was her willingness, +and her anxiety to learn.</p> + +<p>When I was seeking to impart knowledge, +however, she seemed to think it was for her also +to contribute some general information. Hence +our duologues often ran on these lines:—</p> + +<p>“When you make the tea or coffee, be sure +that the water is <i>quite</i> boiling; or else——”</p> + +<p>“Yes, ma’am. Do you know, one of the +young gentlemen where I used to live, couldn’t +help being bald, no matter if he used a whole +bottle of hair restorer every day. It ran in his +fambly.”</p> + +<p>“Really! Well, now we’ll fry some bacon. +You put a little of the bacon fat from this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> +jar into the pan first of all to get hot. Like +this.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, ma’am. Isn’t it strange, grandmother +won’t never have red roses in her bonnet. Can’t +bear red.”</p> + +<p>She also excelled in asking questions; from +morn till eve life seemed one long series of conundrums +which I was expected to answer. I never +realized before how many queries country life +presents; hitherto it had seemed to me such a +simple, straightforward state of existence.</p> + +<p>An old man had been secured to do an +occasional odd day’s work (at highest London +prices). He described some misfortune that, +last autumn, had befallen “Hussy,” the cow who +comes for change of air into my orchard at +intervals—an apple she had eaten (one of mine, +of course) being blamed for the fact that her +milk turned off, “like vinegar ’twas.”</p> + +<p>Eileen—in common with every other young +human under twenty years of age—thrilled at +the word apple, and inquired if “Hussy” had +stolen it off a tree?</p> + +<p>“Stolen it off a tree!” scoffed the man; +“and why should she bother to creek her neck +up’ards when they was lying by the thousand +as thick on the ground in that thur orchard as—as—well, +as apples!”</p> + +<p>Eileen looked incredulous.</p> + +<p>“Yes, by the thousand they was, and not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> +wuth picking up, no one wanted ’em; no men +to make cider; no sugar to jam ’em; child’un +all got colic a’ready as bad as bad could be, +couldn’t swaller no more; too damp to keep. +Ay, and we that short o’ cider as we be!” And +the aged one—who had been coining money +hand over fist, with letter carrying, and the sale +of eggs and poultry, and a couple of pigs, and the +hay in his paddock, to say nothing of gilt-edged +easy little jobs waiting for him all about the +place at any price per hour he cared to charge, +and old age pensions paid regularly to himself +and wife—paused to shake his head and sigh +over the misfortunes of the times.</p> + +<p>Eileen was likewise moved. To think of it—unwanted +apples! And no one to eat them! +She reverted to the phenomenon several times +that day, with such queries as these:—If eating +one apple turns the cow’s milk to vinegar, would +eating fifty turn it to cider? If so, wouldn’t it +be cheaper to make the cow grow cider, as the +old man said cider had riz to 7<i>d.</i> a quart, and +milk was only 6<i>d.</i> You would then make a +penny a quart profit that you could put into +the Savings Bank to help the War.</p> + +<p>After watching some vegecultural operations +she inquired: “Why is it, when he puts potatoes +in the ground and beans in the ground all the +same way, the beans come out at the top of the +plant and the potatoes come out at the bottom?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p> + +<p>Another time it was: “What do they use +the sting of the nettle for?” And when she +had enlarged her garden vocabulary, she inquired: +“Is a spider an annual or a perennial?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t find a tap out there to turn off the +water,” and she indicated the spring outside the +gate, tumbling out of a little wooden trough +wedged in among the rocks, into a pool below. +“I suppose they stop it at the main. What +time do they turn it off? . . . <i>Never?</i> It runs +like that always! Then how long is it before +the whole lot runs away and it’s all dried up? +And don’t they ever come down on you for +wasting the water?”</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Yet more accomplished people than Eileen +have often surprised one by their ignorance. +An experienced and supposed-to-be-highly-qualified +cook came to me one day with the sad +news that we couldn’t have any stuffing with the +duck for dinner that day as there wasn’t a single +bottle of herbs in the house. I reminded her +that there was an almost unlimited amount of +everything in the garden, including a sage +bush growing on a wall that now measures +15 feet by 6 feet. “In the garden?” she +repeated in surprise. “But I didn’t know it +was good unless it was bottled! You don’t +mean that country people use those things +raw?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p> + +<p>I felt such an apologetic cannibal as I explained!</p> + +<p>She it was who split up the chopping board +to light the fire, the first morning after her +arrival, because she couldn’t find a bundle of +firewood anywhere. On being referred to the +stack of dry kindling wood in the coal shed—she +had never heard of lighting fires with trees +before; never thought, indeed, to live with a +family that expected you to do such things!</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>On one occasion, when I was in one of the +largest and poorest of the London Elementary +Schools, where the children looked as pitifully +sordid and poverty-stricken as I have ever seen +them, I asked a few questions of one small girl +in the front row of a class. Her outside dress +consisted of an old dilapidated waistcoat worn +over a dingy flannelette nightgown, while a +ragged piece of serge fastened around the waist +with a safety-pin did duty for a skirt. But she +was only one among a classful of rags and +tatters.</p> + +<p>“What is your name?” I asked, by way of +starting conversation.</p> + +<p>“Victorine,” the forlorn-looking little thing +replied.</p> + +<p>“And what is your lesson about?” I then +inquired.</p> + +<p>“Therdelfykorrickul,” she informed me.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span></p> + +<p>Seeing the bewildered look on my face, the +head mistress, who was showing me round, said, +“Enunciate your words more carefully, Victorine, +and speak slowly.”</p> + +<p>Victorine understood what “speak slowly” +meant, and so she said very deliberately, “The—Delphic—Horricul.”</p> + +<p>“So you are learning about the Delphic +Oracle. And what are you going to do when +you grow up?” was my next query.</p> + +<p>“I’m going to work in the laundry like +muvver!”</p> + +<p>We went into another classroom; here more +ragged unwashed clothes greeted me on every +hand. I had no need to ask the subject of the +lesson, for the girls were facing a blackboard +on which was written “The Characteristics of +Shelley’s Poetry.”</p> + +<p>After I had seen more tatters in a third +room, where a lesson was being given on “Infinitive +Verbs,” I said to the head mistress, “If +I had this school, do you know what I should +do? I should take a class at a time, and give +out needles and cotton, and tell them to do the +best they could to sew up the rags in their +dresses and their pinafores. I would not mind +if they did not put on patches even to a thread +in the regulation way, so long as they made +some attempt to run together those rents and +slits and yawning gaps. I would let the other<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> +lessons go till this was done. And I would not +let a girl take her place in a class in the morning +till she had mended as well as she could any +rents she had worn to school.”</p> + +<p>The head mistress shook her head. “That +would not be practical; you see, it isn’t in the +Syllabus.”</p> + +<p>I don’t pretend to understand the inwardness +of syllabuses, but I couldn’t help wondering if +there wasn’t an opening here for a new one. +While so much unpractical stuff is taught to the +poorer classes in elementary schools, is it any +wonder that the children know so little of the +things appertaining to daily life?</p> + +<p>Eileen didn’t exactly suffer from rags. She +was as neat and patched and wholesome as her +clean, sensible grandmother could make her; +but she was forlorn-looking to the last degree. +One of the first things I tried to do was to get +her to take a little pride in her personal appearance. +And it was wonderful how she responded. +With her hair released from the uncompromising, +tight screw that had been kept in place by three +big iron-looking hair-pins, and done higher up, +and more loosely over the forehead, and a pretty +collar and blue bow for her Sunday blouse, she +looked a different being.</p> + +<p>“Poor little thing, she has never had a soul +take any interest in how she looks,” Ursula remarked +to me. “And even though we’re not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> +allowed to cast our bread upon the waters, +nowadays, they haven’t said anything officially +about ribbons.” And so we searched our drawers +for suitable finery that might bring a little colour +into Eileen’s hitherto drab outlook. Virginia +followed suit, remarking that she liked to scatter +little seeds of kindness by the wayside, since you +never know what may result.</p> + +<p>True! She didn’t!</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, Eileen gloated over the odds and +ends, fixing weird and crazy-looking bows to her +black sailor hat, draping her shoulders with bits +of lace to see if they would make a collar, and +standing in front of the kitchen glass trying the +effect of pinks and purples under her chin.</p> + +<p>For a time, the questions ceased.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>VIII<br /> + +<small>A Cold Snap</small></h2> + + +<p class="unindent"><span class="smcap">For</span> a couple of days the sun was radiant, and +the air actually warm. We agreed with each +other that Italy and the South of France weren’t +in it.</p> + +<p>We started gardening with all the zest of +backwoods-women, who know that the only +vegetables they can hope for are those they +themselves grow. Unlike the majority of Londoners, +the War had not added much to our +knowledge in this direction. I had not owned +a house in the country many months before I +learnt the value of first-hand home production. +Hence, when the allotment fever set in, we +were quite able to keep pace with the rest of the +world despite our failing intellects. The only +thing that differentiated us from the remainder +of our fellow-citizens in the Metropolis, was the +fact that we appeared to be the only ones who +did not feel themselves competent to bestow +unlimited information and advice, in season and +out of season, to all and sundry, on every +imaginable and unimaginable point connected +with the raising of food crops.</p> + +<p>One of the many reasons for the charm that +envelops our life at the hillside cottage lies in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> +the fact that it brings us much closer to the +fundamental principle of keeping alive than is +ever possible in town with its over-civilization. +Of course, it isn’t desirable that our mental and +spiritual interests should centre in the question +of what we shall eat and what we shall drink, +and wherewithal shall we keep warm and comfortable, +but I think a woman suffers a distinct +loss when she eliminates these matters entirely +from her horizon.</p> + +<p>I know, from personal experience, that there +comes a period in our lives when we women feel +that there are much higher enterprises beckoning +us, that we (individually, not collectively) +are called to do some work in the world that is +far greater than seeing to meals, and keeping +the household machinery moving unobtrusively +and with regularity; but it is fortunate that +there eventually returns to us (if we are properly +balanced) a realization that some of our very +best work can be put into the making of a +home, and that far from it being narrow and +sordid and selfish to devote a large part of ourselves +to household administration, it is in +reality one of the widest spheres that a woman +can choose, and one that will give her the +biggest scope for bringing happiness and +strength and health to others—and, after all, +isn’t that the avowed aim of the most advanced +of modern feminists?</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span></p> + +<p>Still, I admit that our cramped surroundings +and jaded, strained existence in cities do not +always make a round of domestic duties seem +alluring to the woman who has to cram her +belongings and her aspirations into a small +modern flat, or who has to do her cooking in +one of the unhealthy, sunless basements that +prevail in the older houses in towns. A woman +needs fresh air, sunshine and a garden if the best +is to be brought out of her. Oh, yes, I know +some few women have done great things without +one or another of these items—but probably +they would have done still more if they had had +the opportunity to come to their full development +under more favourable circumstances.</p> + +<p>I’m not surprised that women, whose existence +is limited by the narrow environment of +towns, so continually beat the air with a longing +to do something more than seems possible in +the flat or dull suburban villa. Civilization has +taken out of their hands so many of the useful +occupations that formerly kept women busy—and +worthily busy too; and it is not to be wondered +at that they cry out for something to do, +and invent Causes on which to expend their zeal +and energy. The preparation of food, the +laundry work, and indeed most household duties +are now done for us in cities on the “penny-in-the-slot” +principle (only we have to put a +shilling in the slot, as a rule, for the pennyworth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> +of result that we receive); and it is small +wonder that so few of us can work up any +interest in the process.</p> + +<p>But how are matters to be altered? you ask +me. I don’t know! Pray don’t think I’m +proposing to find solutions for grave problems +in these stories! I’m only giving you a record +of facts, just simple everyday little happenings +“of no value to anyone save the owner.” And +we’ll leave it at that, if you don’t mind, and +return to the garden.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Before the War labour was not so scarce, +and there was no need for us to plant the vegetables +ourselves, unless we desired to do so. +Now, however, one’s own personal work was a +valuable asset, and we put our backs into it—at +least Ursula and I did; Virginia was engaged +most of the time in describing the sort of tools +she would make, if she were in that line of +business, to obviate the grave spinal trouble she +was certain she was developing.</p> + +<p>I don’t mean to imply that Virginia isn’t a +good gardener; she can be an excellent one +when she likes, for she knows what gardening +really stands for in the way of hard work. +Whereas some of my would-be assistant gardeners +seem to think the chief requisites are a +comfortable hammock and a book; or, at most, +a “picture” muslin frock and a pretty basket<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> +and a pair of baby scissors. Such girls remind +me of many who write and inquire if I have a +vacancy for a sub-editor in my office, the chief +qualification stated in their letters being that +they “do so love to browse among books.”</p> + +<p>Virginia isn’t like that; she puts on a +business-like garb, and knows—and annexes—a +good tool when she sees it. But it is her bright +ideas that are the hindrance to progress. She +wasted ten minutes that morning explaining to +me that she was sure, if I would only have +turnips planted in the mint bed, it would be +another war economy, as the mint flavour might +permeate the turnips, and thus save double +expense with lamb.</p> + +<p>And then another ten minutes went in +enlarging on the grasping nature of the makers +of gardening gloves in not supplying four pairs +of extra thumbs with each pair, since any intelligent +gardener could wear out eight thumbs +with one pair in the simplest day’s gardening. +She offered to let me use the idea free of charge +in my magazine, if I would undertake to keep +her supplied with gardening gloves for the rest +of her natural life; but she stipulated that they +must be proper leather ones, not the four-and-sixpenny +war variety she was then wearing, +composed of unbleached calico, with merely a +chamois postage-stamp stuck on the front of +each finger and thumb.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p> + +<p>In the intervals of conversation she aided us +with our digging, yet, in spite of the National +Call to spend as much on seed potatoes as +would keep the family in vegetables for a couple +of years, we continually found ourselves drifting +away from the ground we were trenching, for +the violets were already out, also some early +primroses, and little white stars were showing +on the wild strawberry trails in sheltered corners +under walls that faced south.</p> + +<p>And the garden is full of sheltered nooks, +despite its being so high up. As the ground +slopes towards the south, every wall that props +up the garden—and there are so many, like +giant steps down the steep hillside—gives protection +from the cold winds to the little growing +things that nestle in every crevice and on the +ground below. Everywhere the pennywort was +sending out clear green disks from the mysterious +depths of crannies in the wall. Crocuses were +showing orange buds in the garden beds. One +precocious pansy held up a white flower, streaked +and splashed with purple.</p> + +<p>“Spring has really come,” we all chorused. +And oh, how good it seemed to be done with +the winter; such a winter too! Surely the +longest and most awful winter humanity has +ever known!</p> + +<p>With spring and summer immediately before +us, as it seemed, we decided to leave the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> +trenching just for that day, and explore the +lanes and woods. The lichens and mosses were +at the height of their beauty—a beauty that +would fade once the sun got any power. The +wall-stones were splashed with browns and +greys, rust-colour and orange, black and olive, +and one particular lichen that is our especial joy +tints the stone a milky pea-green shade that is +unlike any other colour I can recall.</p> + +<p>Last year’s bramble leaves were purple and +scarlet and crimson and yellow. Where the +small ivy creeping up the walls had been touched +by the frost, it had turned a vivid yellow mottled +with warm brown and crimson. And it is surprising, +once you take note of it, how much +crimson is used by Nature where you would +expect to find only green; and not merely a +dull red, it is a brilliant, vivid carmine that is +dropped about in quiet, unsuspected places, +lighting up dark patches, emphasizing sombre +details that one might otherwise overlook.</p> + +<p>We were turning over a handful of brown +leaves under an oak tree in the wood; there we +found the streak of crimson showing inside an +acorn that had just burst to let out a young +shoot that was seeking about for roothold below +and light up above. Not only one, but hundreds +of similar brilliant touches were scattered about +where the fertile acorns lay among the moss +and last year’s fern.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p> + +<p>In one secluded spot, where the cold had not +been severe enough to wither last year’s foliage +on the undergrowth, long sprays of ground ivy, +climbing over a fallen branch, had turned to +deep wine colour, stems and all, and lay, as +Eileen said, “beautiful enough for one of them +lovely wreaths of leaves they put round best +hats.” Certainly it looked more artificial than +natural, if one didn’t happen to know that +ground ivy often takes on this tint in its +declining days.</p> + +<p>Thanks to Tennyson, we all know that +rosy plumelets tuft the larch; but it doesn’t +matter how many times you see them, they are +always worth looking at—and marvelling at—again.</p> + +<p>And there seems no limit to the crimson +splashes. Is there anything anywhere that can +compare with the Herb Robert, its leaves far +more radiant than its blossoms; or the leaves of +the evening primrose when they start to fade +at the bottom of the stem; or the waning +foliage of the sorrel?</p> + +<p>To make a list of the crimson touches (as +distinct from the reddish-brown) that one finds +on stems and foliage any day in the country, +would be a revelation to most of us.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Though the sun had been so bright when we +started, it doesn’t do to trust too much in an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> +English spring, and we presently noticed a very +decided change; the temperature dropped with +great rapidity, as clouds came up and hid the +sun, and the hills that towered about us suddenly +loomed gloomy and forbidding. The +wind veered round from south-west to north-east; +and by evening it was piercingly, bitterly cold.</p> + +<p>Taking a last look round with the lantern +before we locked up for the night, not a sound +could be heard; everything was absolutely still, +with that unearthly silence of a land suddenly +gripped by overpowering cold. I glanced at +the thermometer hanging on the outside wall; +it already registered three degrees below freezing; +it would probably be ten before morning.</p> + +<p>We bolted the door and shut out the cold, +hoping no one was wandering lost on the hills +that night (not that anyone ever is, but it is +pleasant to have kind charitable thoughts like +that, on a bleak night, as you put yet another +log on the fire).</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Next morning, as it was colder and more +perishing than ever, I decided to cope with +several days’ arrears of office work, piling itself +up in all directions. Virginia said it was just as +well the weather necessitated our remaining +indoors, as she could now get on with <i>her</i> work. +Of course we asked: What work?</p> + +<p>She informed us that she was engaged upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> +an anthology, “Shakespeare and the Great +War.” She felt that “Shakespeare and Everything +Else” had been done pretty thoroughly—by +less competent people than herself, it is true; +but, all the same, the poet had been dealt with +exhaustively from every point of view but that +of the War. Also, the War had been dealt with, +<i>in extenso</i>, from every point of view but Shakespeare’s. +Hence, her present literary effort.</p> + +<p>And would I kindly give her any quotations +I could think of, that had any bearing on this +world-crisis.</p> + +<p>All my brain was equal to was—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“Tell me, where is fancy bred?”</p></div> + +<p>which undoubtedly indicated that the War Loaf +was known to pall on the public taste even in +Shakespeare’s time.</p> + +<p>She said she had expected me to say that, it +was so obvious. Nevertheless, I noticed she +hurriedly jotted it down.</p> + +<p>We asked her to read her MS. so far as she +had gone; it seemed a pity for us to overlap.</p> + +<p>“I’ve made a fair start,” she explained, “but +the trouble is they all turn out so awkwardly. +For instance, the first quotation I have down is—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>‘She riseth also while it is yet night, and giveth +meat to her household’</p></div> + +<p>—anyone can see Daylight Saving there——”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span></p> + +<p>Naturally, I opened my mouth to speak, but +she cut me short, testily:</p> + +<p>“Of course I know as well as you that it +isn’t Shakespeare—at least I wasn’t reared a +heathen!—but that’s just the tiresome part +of it. Every quotation I think of isn’t Shakespeare +at all. Here’s another that would do +beautifully (and take up a nice bit of space +on the page too),</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> +<div class="verse">‘The upper air burst into life!</div> +<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And a hundred fire-flags’ sheen,</span></div> +<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">To and fro they were hurried about!</span></div> +<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And to and fro, and in and out,</span></div> +<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The wan stars danced between.’</span></div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>“Even a child could tell you they were the +searchlights trying to spot a Zepp.—only it isn’t +Shakespeare! It’s very worrying. Yet I know +if only I could get the book done, there would +be a fortune in it. W. S. always sells, and he’s +so respectable too!”</p> + +<p>I said I was sorry my office duties had prior +claim on my time, and I urged Ursula to do her +sisterly part. But she said she couldn’t be +bothered just then; her mind was more than +fully occupied in trying to lay the blame for +everything on the right person.</p> + +<p>So I took Virginia’s MS. and read it down.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="center"> +“How full of briars is this working-day world.”<br /> +</p> + +<p>This proves that barbed wire entanglements were +known in the seventeenth century.</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> +<p class="center"> +“How far that little candle throws his beams!”<br /> +</p> + +<p>This indicates clearly that Shakespeare was fined +for failing to comply with the Lighting Restrictions.</p> + +<p>That he was compelled to pay War Profits out of +the “royalties” on his plays is evidenced by these +poignant words in <i>Macbeth:</i>—</p> + +<p class="center"> +“Nought’s had, all’s spent,”<br /> +</p> + +<p class="unindent">and doubtless there was a subtle reference to War +taxation in</p> + +<p>“Age cannot wither nor custom stale her infinite +variety.”</p> + +<p>The unfailing hold of Shakespeare on humanity is +the fact that he touched upon all phases of life. +(This sentence was Virginia’s own literary contribution +to the “Anthology.”) For example (she went +on), even a sugar shortage was known in his day. +To what else could he have been referring when he +wrote</p> + +<p class="center"> +“Sweet are the uses of adversity,”<br /> +</p> + +<p class="unindent">and can anyone doubt that</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> +<div class="verse">“Double, double, toil and trouble,</div> +<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: .5em;">Fire burn and cauldron bubble,”</span></div> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="unindent">points to meatless days?</p></div> + +<p>Here we were interrupted by a knock at the +door. It was Miss Primkins, an elderly lady +who lives by herself (or at least with Rehoboam, +her cat) in a pretty little cottage further down +the hill. Miss Primkins has been hard hit by +the War, but no matter how she has to skimp +and save in other ways, she never relaxes her +work for the wounded.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p> + +<p>And it was about her contribution to Queen +Mary’s Needlework Guild that she came up to +consult me. Not that we started there straight +away—of course not. We talked about the +shortage of sugar, and the high cost of boots, +and the scarcity of chicken food, and the price +of meat, and the difficulty of knowing how to +feed Rehoboam adequately and yet in strict +accordance with official regulations, and the +colour of the bread, and “what are we coming +to,” and other topical matters like that. Then, +when I had pressed Miss Primkins several times +to stay to our midday meal, and she had as many +times assured me that she must not stay another +minute, grateful though she was for my kind +invitation, as she had put on the potatoes to boil +before she came out, she produced (in an undertone) +a paper parcel from her bag, and with much +hesitation explained that she wanted advice on a +private matter.</p> + +<p>I was all attention.</p> + +<p>Undoing the paper, she displayed what +looked like a round bolster case made of pink +and blue striped flannelette. As she held it up +for inspection, it “flared” at the top (to use a +dressmaker’s term) with merely a small round +opening at the bottom.</p> + +<p>I glanced it over as intelligently as I knew +how, and then inquired what it was.</p> + +<p>“It’s a pyjama for a soldier,” she murmured<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> +modestly, in a very low voice. “I’ve cut it +exactly by the paper pattern, yet Miss Judson, +who saw it yesterday, says she doesn’t believe +it’s right. We’ve neither of us ever made one +before, so I thought I would run up to you +with it; you would be <i>sure</i> to know.”</p> + +<p>“Er—h’m—ah—yes,” I said, as light dawned. +“It’s all right so far as it goes; but where’s the +other leg?”</p> + +<p>“The other leg?” she echoed, “there was +only one in the pattern.”</p> + +<p>“Of course; but you should have cut it out +in double material; the garment requires two +legs, you know.”</p> + +<p>“Does it!” she exclaimed in genuine surprise. +“Why, I thought it must be intended for a +soldier who had had his other leg amputated!”</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Before Virginia put away her “Anthology,” +preparatory to having lunch, she added another +quotation to her list—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> +<div class="verse">“For never anything can be amiss</div> +<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">When simpleness and duty tender it,”</span></div> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="unindent">and against this she scribbled, “one-legged +pyjamas”—doubtless for elucidation and amplification +at a later date. I hope I haven’t forestalled +her.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>IX<br /> + +<small>Snowdrifts</small></h2> + + +<p class="unindent"><span class="smcap">It</span> was later in the day, and the zest for Shakespeare +had waned. Virginia had moved from +beside the fire and was sitting nearer the window, +in order to get what light there was from the +sun just disappearing behind the opposite hills. +She was very busy with some crochet edging she +had lately started. It was the first time within +the memory of living woman that Virginia had +been seen with a crochet-hook in her hand—fancy-work +had never been her strong point—hence +the inordinate pride with which she patted +out the short fragment on any available surface +at frequent intervals, surveying it from different +points of view with her head cricked at various +angles, and calling upon all and sundry to admire.</p> + +<p>After moving nearer the window she again +patted out the seven small scallops on her knee, +as usual, and then became meditative. No one +paid much attention to her, however. I was +sitting on the settle, with a heaped-up table +before me, absorbed in MSS., which I was +reading, and then sorting into various piles—for +printer, for reserve, for return—and arranging +these on the seat beside me; important work, +which accounted for my preoccupation.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p> + +<p>Ursula was busily engaged in the laudable +endeavour to construct a pair of child’s knickers +out of two pairs of stocking legs. Someone had +told her this could be done. It had appealed to +her as a serviceable way to use up done-with +stockings (and she assured me the problem of +what to do with these “done-withs” had been a +long-standing mental burden), while at the same +time one might be conferring a benefit upon the +poor. The fact that the modern “poor” would +have scorned anything so economical did not +worry her.</p> + +<p>At last Virginia broke the silence. “It’s +really quite remarkable! I don’t know that I’ve +met with a more extraordinary crochet pattern +than this,” she said thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>“Where did you get it from?” I asked rather +absently, as I went on with my work.</p> + +<p>“From one of the magazines you are +supposed to edit,” she said blandly.</p> + +<p>“What is there extraordinary about it?” I +inquired, now thoroughly roused up to give the +matter all my attention, while Ursula laid down +the dislocated stocking leg she had been wrestling +with.</p> + +<p>“Well, it’s like this. There is the pattern, +you see,” pointing to a picture I had seen before, +“and there are the directions. When you’ve +worked them through once, that makes one +scallop. Do you see?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p> + +<p>We said we saw it quite plainly.</p> + +<p>“Then, you notice it says at the very end, +‘go back and repeat from the first row’? Now +this is the extraordinary part of the affair; every +time I go back and repeat from the first row it +makes an entirely different scallop. The last +time but one, you see, the scallop came on the +opposite side of the sewing-on edge; I thought +<i>that</i> was interesting enough! But now I find +this last scallop has <i>turned a corner</i>. Funny, +isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>For the first time we gave Virginia’s bit of +edging serious attention. What she had done +with those directions it was impossible to say, +but the result was certainly peculiar.</p> + +<p>“That will be a valuable piece of lace by the +time it’s finished,” I said. “What are you going +to do with it?”</p> + +<p>“I’m making it as a Christmas present for +you,” she replied sweetly. “I think it may +help to promote conversation if you display it at +your social functions. I know you’re going to +say how unselfish it is of me. I think, myself, I +mellow as I age.”</p> + +<p>“Not at all,” I replied politely, and suggested +that we should go for a walk, lest such concentrated +thinking should be too much for her.</p> + +<p>“If you’d been a properly-minded hostess +you would have proposed that long ago. I’ve +been waiting anxiously for it, only there is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> +Ursula absorbed in that outfit that no masculine +infant anywhere would recognise——”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’ve given up the knicker idea long +ago,” interrupted Ursula. “I’ve turned them +into chest-protectors for the old people in the +infirmary. And now, as a war economy, I’m +going to enlarge your vests (I neither ask for, +nor expect, gratitude!). The laundry having +shrunk them to waistbands, I shall add an +upper and a lower storey.”</p> + +<p>“—and <i>you</i> sit hour after hour reading MSS. +What are they all about? What’s that one in +your hand, for instance?”</p> + +<p>“This one,” holding up some sheets of +violently-written paper that almost burst through +the envelope, “is an anonymous letter from +some irate lady who objects to something or +someone appearing in our pages. I haven’t time +to read it, but if you care to wade through it——”</p> + +<p>“Anonymous letters are so futile.”</p> + +<p>“Anything but,” I told her. “It is always +a pleasant thing, at the end of the day, to feel +that you have, even in a slight way, contributed +to anyone’s happiness. And I’m sure the lady +who dug her pen into that anonymous letter was +very happy when she posted it. Glad am I, +therefore, to be the unworthy instrument permitted +to promote her joy!”</p> + +<p>Virginia merely snorted. “What’s the next +MS. about?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p> + +<p>“This is a very long poem on the War, and +the writer explains that she has made all the +lines run straight on in order to save paper, but +doubtless I can find out where it rhymes. It +begins ‘Hail, proud mother of nations who dwell +in these sea-girt islands for centuries past and +centuries yet to be——’”</p> + +<p>Virginia said she’d skip the rest, please, and +wasn’t there a little light fiction anywhere in +the chaos before me?</p> + +<p>“This is a story of a beautiful Russian +princess who was doomed to live in a lonely +castle, with no one but her aged and decrepit +nurse, in the very centre of a pathless Siberian +forest, hundreds of miles from everybody, until +the spell should be broken——”</p> + +<p>“What spell?” inquired Ursula.</p> + +<p>“(I don’t know—the writer doesn’t say)—until +the spell should be broken, when she would +be free. She was the most exquisite vision that +ever burst upon human sight. Not only were her +features perfect, and her hair a rippling cascade +of gold, but her dress was grace and beauty +combined.”</p> + +<p>“Then it wasn’t one of <i>this</i> season’s models!” +ejaculated Ursula, “hence it must have been +out-of-date. All the same, I’d like to know who +was her dressmaker. Did they think to mention +the name?”</p> + +<p>(“No, that is not stated.)—She used to spend<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> +her days listening to the wolves who congregated +all around the castle howling and gnashing their +horrid fangs, till one day an honest, sturdy +forester approached, and with one fell swoop +slew dozens of them. Whereupon the Princess +Elizabeth—for such was her name—opened the +door and cried, ‘Welcome, deliverer!’ and in +less time than it takes me to tell you, that aged +and decrepit nurse had prepared, all unaided, a +sumptuous wedding banquet, while gorgeously +apparelled guests arrived in battalions from nowhere. +Then, just as they were about to be +married, the honest, sturdy forester, no longer +able to conceal his identity, confessed that he +was indeed the Prince.”</p> + +<p>“What Prince?” inquired the interrupter +again.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know, and the writer doesn’t say, +and I wish you would remember, Ursula, that in +the larger proportion of MSS. sent to editors it +is customary for the writers to omit the essential +details!”</p> + +<p>“Then I’d just as soon go for a walk as hear +any more,” she said with decision.</p> + +<p>Whereupon we got into big coats and +thick gloves and tied on our hats with motor +scarfs, I don’t mean the filmy wisps one wears +when motoring in the park, but those large, +solid, thick, brown, woollen scarves that look as +though they had been made from a horse-blanket—the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> +sort that the West End window dresser in +desperation labels “dainty!” But the air was +bitingly cold, and we were so high up among the +hills, that no wraps would have been too warm +that day. Then we started off, after I had said +a final word to Eileen about the necessity for +keeping the kettle boiling, as we shouldn’t be +gone long. She had assured me many times +already that she wasn’t the least bit nervous +about being left alone—rather liked it, in fact. +She was blissfully engaged at the moment in +trying to construct a “dainty evening camisole” +(as per some penny weekly she had bought +coming down) out of the satin ribbon and lace +from Virginia’s last year’s hat.</p> + +<p>The small white dog with the brown ears +accompanied us to the gate, but decided that, +with the thermometer just where it was at that +moment, home-keeping hearts were happiest; so +he promptly returned to the hearthrug.</p> + +<p>The sun had disappeared, but there was still +light on the hill-tops, though the valley below +was fast settling down to darkness. Virginia +suggested the lantern, but I thought we should +not need it, more especially as a moon was due +immediately. So we set off at a swinging pace.</p> + +<p>Already, owing to the severity of the frost, +the roads rang like iron to our tread. Every +stalk and twig was glistening with rime and +feathered with hoar-frost. No sign of life did<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> +we see in all that walk. Where were the birds, +and squirrels, and rabbits, and pheasants, and all +the hundreds of timid wild things we were +accustomed to meet on our summer rambles? +We hoped they were safely tucked away in +barns or burrows, or sleeping in warm hayricks, +for nothing else above ground would give them +any shelter. I thought of the row of twittering +swallows that always perch themselves along the +ridge of the cottage roof on hot summer afternoons, +and felt glad they had gone off to a +warmer climate.</p> + +<p>But for ourselves, we would not have exchanged +the weather that moment for any other, +no matter how balmy. There is something +remarkably exhilarating in the clear cold air of +such a day on the hilltops, and as we mounted +up and up our spirits rose with us—even though +the roads were rough and terribly hard on war-time +leather.</p> + +<p>I once remarked to a local resident that I +found our stony hillside roads a bit trying, to +say nothing of the side paths.</p> + +<p>“Well now, I do be s’prised to hear ’ee a-say +that,” he replied. “For the on’y time I were +up to Lunnon—I went for a day scursion—d’you +know my legs did that <i>hake</i> when I got +back, I were a week getting over it. It were all +along o’ they flat stones what they do have up +there; why, if you believe me, I was a-near<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> +toppling over every other minute. There weren’t +ne’er a blessed thing to catch holt onter with +your toes! I felt as though the pavemint was +a-coming up to knock my head. Now on these +here roads o’ ourn you can’t slip far, because +there’s always summat of a rock or big stone to +trip up agin.”</p> + +<p>For myself, however, I sometimes think I +would prefer the said rocks and stones if they +were boiled a bit, and then mangled.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>At last we reached the crest of the hill, and +paused to get our breath. The silence was awe-inspiring. +At all other times there is a persistent +hum of insects, or cheep of birds, or the rustling +of leaves and swaying grasses—movement and +sound somewhere, night as well as day. But +when the earth has been swept by the magic of +frost, then there is silence indeed. From where +we stood, we might have been alone on the +very edge of the world. No house was visible, +and although we knew that the little village +lay in the valley below us, we could see nothing +of it.</p> + +<p>All was grey, merging into indigo in the +depths of the coombes. Grey were the trees on +the farther hills, grey unrelieved by the lights +and shadows that gaily chase each other over the +steeps in sunny weather, as the white clouds sail +across the sky above them.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p> + +<p>Near at hand the trees took on more individuality. +The straight columns of the larches +were mysterious-looking and awe-inspiring, +suggesting regiments of soldiers suddenly called +to a halt. Pale grey beeches, that in damp +weather show a vivid emerald green down the +north side of their huge trunks, where moss +flourishes undisturbed, were now stretching out +strong bare arms over the carpet of many +years’ leaves lying thickly beneath them. Silver +birch stems gleamed in contrast to the glossy +dark green of innumerable aged yews that dotted +the woods—ancient inhabitants, indeed, standing +hoary and heroic like some dark-visaged +guardians of the forest, among a host of newcomers +of a far younger generation.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>But while we were standing there, a sound +suddenly broke the stillness, a sound I have +heard hundreds of times on those hills, yet never +without an eerie feeling. It begins far away, a +low undertone murmur; gradually it comes +nearer and nearer, getting louder and louder, till it +becomes almost a roar, and then—<i>diminuendo</i>—it +passes on and is finally lost in the far +distance.</p> + +<p>It is only the wind as it suddenly rushes +through the river gorge; but as it tears at the +forests on the hillsides, and lashes the branches +together, it produces a strangely uncanny sound,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> +more especially when the trees are bare and +extremely vibrant.</p> + +<p>Hearing this, one can understand the origin +of the old-time legends about headless horsemen +galloping past on windy nights, and similar hair-raising +stories. As a child, when I often visited +at another house in this region (for four generations +of us have climbed these hills and explored +the valleys), I heard these same “headless horsemen” +gallop along the slopes on many stormy +nights; and despite my years and my common +sense, I still feel the same creepy shiver in the +back of my neck when they have a particularly +mad stampede past my cottage door, for then +they always pause to give the weirdest of howls +through the keyholes!</p> + +<p>“How dark it is getting!” exclaimed Ursula. +“Where is your moon? And just hear the +wind coming up the valley!”</p> + +<p>It had not reached us as yet, but the words +had scarcely left her lips before it came—swish—full +upon us. We had to grip each other and +plant our walking-sticks firmly on the ground +to keep our feet. And then we knew what +the sudden change meant, for next moment +down came the snow—snow such as the town-dweller +knows nothing about, for in cities +there are buildings to break the force of the +elements; but on these heights there is nothing +to impede the fury of the storm as it gallops<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> +over the upper regions, crashing and smashing +as it goes.</p> + +<p>The snow dashed in our eyes; it got inside +our coat-collars; it clogged up our hair; it +swirled and “druv” (as they say locally) till it +made our heads dizzy, and our eyes smarted with +trying to see through the whirling mass.</p> + +<p>Owing to our exposed position we felt the +full force of the storm, and it was a difficult +matter to make headway in the blinding flakes +and stinging wind.</p> + +<p>“There is a short cut through the wood, +further along the road; let us get home as soon +as we can,” I said, leading the way, and we +staggered on against the blizzard, till we came +to the wood, and plunged from the road into its +recesses. But I soon found it is one thing to +know the way through a dense mass of trees in +bright sunshine with a path clearly defined, and +quite another thing to find one’s way in the +twilight, with a gale blowing in one’s teeth and +every landmark obliterated by the rapidly falling +snow.</p> + +<p>We stumbled along for some time, over the +rough stones and great boulders, lovely enough +in summer with their coverings of ivy, moss, and +fern, but very painful and cold for the shins +when you tumble over them in the snow. +Before long it was quite evident to me that we +were merely wandering at large among the trees,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> +and scrambling among the undergrowth of stalks +and bracken, our hats catching in the hanging +branches, our skirts being clutched at by the all-pervading +bramble—path there was none. I +had to admit I had lost my bearings, though as +we were going steadily downhill, I knew we +should arrive at the other side presently, as downhill +was our destination. What little conversation +we indulged in—beyond the usual exclamations +every time we tripped over something—had to +be done in shouts, so high was the wind.</p> + +<p>In this way we tumbled on for about half an +hour. Just as Virginia was confiding to me—<i>fortissimo</i> +above the blizzard—how she wished +she had been nicer to her family when she had +the opportunity, and how sweet and forgiving +she would have been to them all had she but +known that I was going to take her out to an +arctic grave, the snow ceased, the clouds broke, +the moon appeared, and at the same time we +cleared the wood and struck a familiar lane—“Agag’s +Path” we had named it, on account of +the need for walking delicately.</p> + +<p>By way of keeping up our spirits, Ursula +began to chant, to some lilting, sprightly tune, +that most lugubrious poem, “Lucy Gray.”</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> +<div class="verse">“The storm came up before its time,</div> +<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">She wandered up and down;</span></div> +<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And many a hill did Lucy climb,</span></div> +<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">But never reached the town.”</span></div> +</div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span></p> + +<p class="unindent">When she got to the verse—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> +<div class="verse">“They followed from the snowy bank</div> +<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Those footmarks, one by one,</span></div> +<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Into the middle of the plank,</span></div> +<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And farther there were none!”—</span></div> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="unindent">Virginia exclaimed, “For mercy sake, if you +<i>must</i> wail, do wail something cheerful and lively. +‘The Boy stood on the Burning Deck,’ for +instance, would warm one up a bit, instead of +that other shivery thing.”</p> + +<p>By the time we reached our gate the storm +was over, though the wind was still sweeping +restlessly over the hills. A dog belonging to a +neighbouring farmer jumped over the garden +wall. He had evidently called in the hope of +getting a chance to settle a long-standing score +he had against my own innocent-looking animal, +who was ever a terrible fighter! We paid no +attention to the dog, however, but hurried up +the path, only too thankful to see the lights of +home, and glad that Eileen had forgotten to pull +down the dark blinds. Nevertheless, I wondered +that she did not open the door so soon as she +heard the gate. I put my hand on the latch, +but to my surprise the door was locked! I +rattled the latch and knocked. The dog whined +inside and gave impatient little short barks +which always mean a summons to someone to +open the door and let me in. But the door +remained locked.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then Eileen’s voice within—</p> + +<p>“Are you quite by yourselves? Has the +wolf gone?”</p> + +<p>“Open the door at once, and don’t talk +nonsense,” I said firmly, trying not to sound as +irritated as I felt.</p> + +<p>“Oh, but it isn’t nonsense. I’ve seen them +out there! One was there just now. And I’m +not going to risk my life by opening the door if +he’s there still.”</p> + +<p>Evidently <i>our</i> lives were unimportant! “If +you don’t open the door this very instant,” I +said, “I’ll get in through the window. You +must be out of your senses, and you have always +professed to be so brave!”</p> + +<p>The key grated in the lock, and the door +opened half an inch, while Eileen’s nose peeped +at the crack, to make sure we were not the wolf. +Then she explained, “If you’d been here for +hours and hours, as I have”—(we had actually +been gone an hour and a half, though I could +understand the sudden storm, and our delay, had +made her nervous)—“hearing those wolves outside +a-howling and howling and gnashing their +horrid fangs, you wouldn’t wonder I was afraid +to open the door. I saw one skulking off just +before you came in.”</p> + +<p>I understood the situation immediately. +“Eileen,” I said severely, “what have you been +reading?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I couldn’t help just seeing what it was all +about when I spread the sheets on the dresser. +You said I must have fresh papers for the +dresser and shelves——”</p> + +<p>“Fresh paper on the dresser?” I exclaimed, +and went hurriedly into the kitchen. Sure +enough, the dresser, the pantry and scullery +shelves, and all other available surfaces, including +the deep window-sill and the tops of the +safes, had been carefully covered with white +paper; prompt investigation proved them to be +pages from some of the various MSS. I had left +in piles on the settle when I went out. Of course +the writing was face downwards. I lifted things +and examined what was beneath. The vegetable +dishes on the dresser were reposing on portions +of a serial story; canisters, saltbox and biscuit-tins +shared the back of one of a series of Nature +Study articles; the Siberian wolves were gnashing +their horrid fangs beneath the knife-machine. +I left the anonymous letter to an amiable if +inglorious end, laid along the saucepan shelf, +but I hurriedly collected the rest to the accompaniment +of Eileen’s plaintive tones—</p> + +<p>“I thought you had put them there for +waste paper. And the back of every sheet was +so beautifully clean, and I had made my kitchen +look <i>so</i> nice with them.”</p> + +<p>All of which goes to illustrate the risk +one runs in sending MSS. to editors, more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> +especially to feminine editors possessed of +kitchens.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Though the fall of snow did not last very +long, the wind howled and moaned around the +house all the evening, and roared in the wide +chimneys like a 32-feet open diapason pedal +pipe. Virginia suggested to Eileen that she +should go out and put a little salt on the wolves’ +tails to see if that would quiet them.</p> + +<p>I thoroughly enjoy the moaning of the wind +if I am surrounded by creature comforts—a big +fire, a good cup of tea, or something interesting +in that line. I never feel a desire for intellectual +or introspective pursuits when the moan is +most robust. When a raw nor’wester or a +bullying sou’wester howls outside the door and +windows, making the pine trees creak and +groan like the wheels of an old timber waggon, +and the evergreen firs wildly wave their branches +like long dark plumes, I want to be able to hug +myself to myself in the midst of warmth and +good cheer, and in the company of some congenial +fellow being. Then I give the fire a +further poke and another log, remarking contentedly: +“Just <i>hark</i> at the wind! <i>What</i> a +night! Isn’t it cosy indoors!” And the brass +candlesticks on the mantelpiece, and the plates +and jugs and dishes on the dresser blink +acquiescence.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></p> + +<p>Under such circumstances I love the howlers +on these hills. But if I were a studious ascetic, +burning the midnight oil—and very little else—I’m +afraid that the sound of the wailing up and +down the scale in minor sixths, coupled with the +lack of comforting food and blazing fire and +sympathetic companionship, would make me +desperately melancholy indeed.</p> + +<p>Now we were indoors we could defy the +weather, and here at least firewood was plentiful—not +the “five sticks a penny, take it or leave +it,” that had been our portion in town, but as +much as ever one wanted, and plenty more +where the last came from. We soon had +crackling blazes all over the house, and you +should have seen Eileen’s almost awestruck +countenance when she was told to make herself +a fire in her own bedroom! “<i>Now</i> I know +what it’s like to be the Queen!” she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>I had been literally fire-starved, owing to +the need for economizing on fuel in town; and +now I was loose among my own woods again, +with snapped branches lying in all directions +among the undergrowth, I went in for an orgy +of warmth. Large chunks of apple wood and +stubby bits the wind had tossed down from the +creaking fir-trees, made crackling glowing fires +in the big open grates. An absurd butterfly +unthawed itself from some crevice among the +ceiling beams and came walking deliberately<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> +down the window curtain, evidently under +the impression that he was in for a sultry +summer.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>For some time we sat and watched the +splendour of it all.</p> + +<p>When you are burning logs from old, sea-going +ships, you see again the blue and saffron +of the sky, and the green and peacock tints of +the ocean; and in like manner you can see +leaping from our forest logs the crimson and +yellow and gold that once blazed in the autumn +glory of the tree-covered hills, and the glow of +the fire gives back the warmth and the sunshine +that the trees caught in their leaves and +cherished in their rugged branches.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>I dropped off to sleep that night with the +flickering fire-glow whispering of comfort and +rest for body and brain. Yes, despite the +soothing balm of it all, and the certainty of +safety from “the terror that walks by night” so +that one could sleep without that sense of constant +listening that has become second nature +with those of us who live in town, I could not +enjoy it with the old-time zest. Who could, +with the thought ever on one’s heart: what +about this lad, and that one? where are <i>they</i> +lying this bitter night?</p> + +<p>Physical sense becomes numbed when one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> +lives perpetually in the shadow of possible +tragedy.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Probably it was the after-effect of our +struggle with the wind and weather that caused +us all to sleep very soundly that night; at any +rate, it was broad daylight before anyone stirred +in the cottage next morning, and we missed the +doings of the storm king in the interval. When +I first opened my eyes I wondered what the +white light could be that was reflected on the +ceiling. Then I looked out of the window, and +what a scene it was! The whole earth, so far +as the eye could see, was one vast fairyland of +snow; moreover, the face of creation appeared +to have risen three or four feet nearer the bedroom +window since last I had looked out, though +the full import of this did not occur to me at the +moment. I could merely look and look at the +wonderful transformation that had been effected +so rapidly and so silently while we slept. All +trace of the garden had disappeared; shrubs and +trees alike were bowed down with billows of +snow. In the more exposed places, the wind +had blown some of the snow from the firs and +larches, but for the most part the trees on the +hillside were as laden with snow as those in +the garden. We might have been high up in +the Alps. The sun was trying to shine, and +bringing a gleam and glint out of every snow<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> +crystal, but the sky still looked leaden in the +north.</p> + +<p>Eileen, bringing the morning tea, imparted +the thrilling intelligence that the snow was +several feet deep outside the doors, the outhouses +inaccessible.</p> + +<p>“Then we must clear the snow from the +path ourselves,” I said. “There is nothing else +for it.” The handy man was laid up with +influenza in his home several fields away. And +there was small likelihood of any other man +coming our way. But the question of a few +shovels of snow did not seem a serious matter; +we were quite lighthearted about it.</p> + +<p>When we made our first survey of the +situation, however, we found that the snow was +far higher outside the door than we had at first +imagined. Owing to the position of the house, +and the way it nestles back in a little hollow +that has been cut out of the hillside to give it +level standing room, special inducement had +been offered to the snow to pile itself up in +drifts and block each door in a most effectual +manner. Still—that snow had to be cleared +away somehow, and we stood in the doorway +and discussed methods.</p> + +<p>Hitherto I had always held the idea that +people who allowed themselves to remain +“snowed up” were very dull-witted and lacking +in enterprise. Why not start clearing from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> +inside, beginning with the spadeful nearest the +doorstep, and so go on clearing, space after +space, until they had got through to the outer +world? To me it seemed quite an easy thing to +do if you went about it systematically. But one +slight detail had never occurred to me, viz., what +should be done with the first spadeful of snow +when you shovelled it up from beside the doorstep, +to say nothing of the next and the next! +That was one of the questions that bothered us +now, though it was not the first difficulty we +encountered.</p> + +<p>At the very outset, of course, we all said, +“Just get a spade!” But, alas, the spade was +locked up in one of the inaccessible outhouses! +Next we called for a broom, but all brooms were +in the same building. Then I said, “Well, +bring some shovels.”</p> + +<p>“Here’s the kitchen shovel,” said Eileen +(Ursula pounced on that at once), “and here’s +the scoop from the coal-scuttle, and here’s one +of the small brass shovels from upstairs.”</p> + +<p>“But where is the big iron shovel?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“That’s in the coal-shed” (likewise inaccessible!). +Virginia turned a deaf ear on the bedroom +shovel, and possessed herself of the scoop. +I had no alternative but to start work with the +small brass affair that was about as effective as a +fish-slice would have been!</p> + +<p>We each shovelled up a mass (most of it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> +tumbling off the shovel again before we got it +into mid-air), and then we looked at each other +and enquired what we were to do with it. It +did not seem advisable to carry it inside the +house; and the only alternative was to toss it a +foot or two away from us; but then, that only +meant adding to the pile already there, which in +any case we should have to clear away before we +could get anywhere! It <i>was</i> a problem.</p> + +<p>In the end we managed to clear about a +square foot, and make a few small burrows in +the mound around us, by throwing the snow as +far away as we could each time. But what was +that foot! We were still yards away from the +coal-shed and the wood-house, with only a +limited supply indoors, and still further away +from the water. We had been working for a +solid hour, and seemed to have raised a haystack +of snow a little way off, where we had tossed our +meagre shovelfuls. And then—as though to +mock our feeble attempts—down came the snow +again, and covered up the space we had cleared +with such effort!</p> + +<p>We looked at it in absolute despair.</p> + +<p>“Why was I born an unmarried spinster?” +exclaimed Ursula. “Oh, that a man would +hove in sight—or whatever the present tense of +‘hove’ may be.”</p> + +<p>But no man obligingly hove in response!</p> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>X<br /> + +<small>Footprints</small></h2> + + +<p class="unindent"><span class="smcap">The</span> snow was meaning to have a good time of +it; there was no question about that. Further +work in the clearing line was obviously impossible.</p> + +<p>Virginia tilted up her coal-scoop in the porch, +beside the pathetic remains of small brass shovel +No. 1 (which broke in half quite early in the +proceedings), and small brass shovel No. 2 +(which also was giving wobbly indications of +impending collapse). Ursula, possessing the +only serviceable tool in the whole collection, +had with unusual forethought carried in the +kitchen shovel, and hidden it surreptitiously—realising +that it was a much-coveted treasure at +that moment.</p> + +<p>But she did suggest that if we just took the +ladder upstairs and let it down out of the end +bedroom window she could climb down, and +that would bring her close to the wood shed; +she could get from the roof of that on to a low +wall, and walk along the wall to the gate, which +she would then climb over (as it was blocked +each side with snow), and in this way she could +get out into the lane to the spring of water, and +bring back a can of water by the same route.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> +This she would tie to a cord let down from the +bedroom window, which could then be hauled +up. Then she would get into the wood shed—which +would not be difficult, as the door opened +inwards, and would not be blocked by the snow +on the inside; getting together some logs, she +would next lash them up so that they also could +be hauled up like the water; finally, she would +herself return, <i>viâ</i> the roof and the ladder and +the bedroom window, to the bosom of the +family.</p> + +<p>This suggestion was received with gratitude, +only everyone else wanted to take Ursula’s place, +and make the tour instead of her. We pointed +out to her that, as she had already meanly +annexed the only workable shovel, she ought at +least to relinquish the rôle of leading lady in this +expedition. We might have wasted much time +in arguing with her had not Eileen reminded us +that the ladder—like everything else we needed—was +up the garden safely snowed up under the +laurel hedge. So that project fell through.</p> + +<p>“We may as well leave that collection of old +metal in the porch,” said Virginia, “since there +is no fear of callers arriving and putting us to the +blush this afternoon.” Then there was nothing +left to do but to stamp off the snow, and shed +rubbers, and ulsters, and scarfs, and woollen +gloves, and possess our souls in patience indoors, +till such time as the snow should give over.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span></p> + +<p>“And to think how I’ve always prided +myself on going away from home prepared for +<i>every</i> emergency!” sighed Virginia. “My +dressing-case is simply crammed with such +valuable data as a bandage for a possible sprained +ankle, court plaster, a pocket-knife with a corkscrew +on it, a specially strong smelling-bottle for +fainty ones, a nightlight, a box of matches, +ammoniated quinine, wedges for rattling windows, +a box of tin-tacks—no, not a hammer, I +always use the heel of my shoe—a two-foot rule—what +should I want that for? I’m sure I +don’t know, but then you never can tell! But +with all my precautions, it never occurred to me +to pack a spade and broom in with my luggage. +This snowstorm has shown me the weak points +in my outfit.”</p> + +<p>“It has shown <i>me</i> the weak points in my +joints,” groaned Ursula. “And, moreover, I +never knew before how many parts of us there +were that could ache. I’m just painful from +head to foot. I never realised what a noble, +self-sacrificing calling snow-shovelling is. And +when I think of the men who come round in +town, offering to sweep the snow from the path—and +a good long path too—for a few pence, it +seems a positive scandal that they should get so +little. I’m sure there is quite ten shillings’ +worth of me used up already!”</p> + +<p>We certainly did ache. And only those who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> +have been suddenly called upon to attack a bank +of snow, with inexperience and feeble tools, can +know the extent of our stiffness. We were +content to let it snow, without the slightest +desire to crick our backs any further. And after +all there is something exceedingly restful and +soothing to over-worked brain and over-strained +nerves, in merely sitting in a low chair by a +roaring fire, taking only such exercise as is +required to put on an extra log, secure in the +knowledge that neither telegram, nor visitor, +nor any communication whatsoever from the +outside world can possibly break in upon the +quiet and peace. You need to spend your life +in the heart of the great metropolis, amid the +never-ceasing turmoil of London streets, with +your days one long maddening distraction of +callers, telephone bells, endless queries and +perpetual noise, to appreciate the joy of the +solitude in that snowed-up cottage among the +hills.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>For long months and months the guns in +Flanders had sent a muffled boom over my +London garden every hour of the day, and had +shaken my windows violently every hour of the +night; and there is no need to set down in +writing the ache and the anxiety that each dull +thud brought to the heart. Every one who has +husband or brother or son out yonder knows<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> +what question comes wafted over each time the +guns send out their deadly roll.</p> + +<p>But our craving for quiet was not a desire to +get out of earshot of the guns. It dated farther +back than the War; it was the inevitable outcome +of the over-wrought hurry of the twentieth +century, when one’s nerves get so frazzled in the +vain attempt to do everything, and do it all at +once, that at last life is simply one intense longing +for that “nest in the wilderness” out of reach +of the clamour of the market-place and the +vain, foolish, soul-wearing struggle for material +things.</p> + +<p>In that enchanted period of life, known as +“before the War,” we used often to discuss the +desirability of moving to an uninhabited island +and spending the rest of our days there in unalloyed +peace. It had been an absorbing dream +with me, ever since I first read Sarah Orne +Jewett’s book, <i>The Country of the Pointed Firs</i>. +I dare say it was selfish to think of being <i>quite</i> +out of reach of the noise and dirt and bustle and +din of cities, and where there would be no next-door +piano, and no gramophone in the house the +other side, and no soots floating in the windows—but +it was a very pleasant one, and I used to +add to it occasionally by imagining what it would +be like to wake up one morning and find that +some unknown but generous friend had left me +an uninhabited island as a legacy; one not far<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> +from the mainland, and somewhere around the +British Isles, of course.</p> + +<p>When such a thing happens, it will find me +quite prepared, for we have built the house there, +and furnished it, and mapped out our life there +many and many a time; all I am waiting for is—the +island! That seems hard to come by! +I’ve had one or two offered me (not as gifts, but +to purchase), like Lundy, for instance, but they +cost too much and are not uninhabited. So we +have still to content ourselves with plans only.</p> + +<p>We were recalled to The Island (we always +refer to it in capital letters) as we sat round the +fire, by Virginia inquiring what books I should +take with me when I moved there. She said +she concluded that, being a booky sort of a +person, a library would be an essential.</p> + +<p>But I set my face firmly against taking unnecessary +literature. My house gets choked +with books, ninety per cent. of which I never +open a second time. I am for ever turning them +out, and yet they go on accumulating. Virginia +has a perfect mania for hoarding impossible +books, that she could never find time to read +through again if she lived to be the age of +Methuselah; yet she keeps them all, on the +chance that some day she may require to refer +to a solitary sentence in one of them. Her +cupboards are full, and her shelves are packed +behind and before, and she has had sets of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> +drawers made just to hold “papers”; which +means hundredweights of abstruse pamphlets, +and learned magazines, and cuttings—well, I +dare say you know the sort of girl she is, and +what it’s like when their flat gets spring-cleaned, +and she insists that no one must lay a finger on +<i>her</i> books!</p> + +<p>Ursula isn’t much better; but at least she is +more practical, and believes in spring cleaning; +hence, in <i>her</i> case, she does have a turn-out occasionally, +and just throws away indiscriminately +whole shelf-loads of books in a fit of desperation, +when she has managed to get every article in the +flat jumbled up in a heap in the room it has no +business in, and no one can find anything. I +believe at such time she surreptitiously disposes +of some of Virginia’s tomes, too; but this I only +suspect. At any rate, Virginia is always bewailing +a number of “<i>most</i> important books” +that never can be found after one of Ursula’s +domestic upheavals.</p> + +<p>Knowing all this, I said that only a definite +number of books would be allowed on The +Island. Both girls said it would be impossible +to fix any limit that would meet the case. I +said I was quite sure humanity, more especially +the intellectual feminine portion of it, could do +with far less books than they thought they could.</p> + +<p>Vehement protests!</p> + +<p>Then I suggested, to prove my words, that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> +we should each start to make out a list of the +books we couldn’t possibly do without on The +Island—<i>only</i> those we couldn’t possibly do without—and +see what it amounted to. “Jot down +any book or author that occurs to us as being +essential, irrespective of any sort of classification,” +I said. “And we had better compare +notes every ten books, as we go along.”</p> + +<p>Forthwith, we each scribbled down our first +ten <i>absolutely indispensable</i> books (they were to +be exclusive of religious and devotional works). +When we compared notes in a few minutes’ +time, these were our lists:—</p> + + +<div class="center"><span class="smcap">Virginia.</span></div> + + +<ul class="booklist"><li>Encyclopædia.</li> +<li>A Dictionary.</li> +<li>Jane Austen’s Novels.</li> +<li>“The Shepherd of Salisbury Plain.”</li> +<li>A Time Table.</li> +<li>Franklin’s “Voyages.”</li> +<li>“Punch” (regularly).</li> +<li>A good Atlas.</li> +<li>“The Spectator” (regularly).</li> +<li>“A Child’s Garden of Verse.” R. L. Stevenson.</li></ul> + + + +<div class="center"><br /><span class="smcap">Ursula.</span></div> + + +<ul class="booklist"> +<li>A good Guide to London.</li> +<li><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span>A large selection of Needlework and Crochet Books.</li> +<li>My old Scrapbook.</li> +<li>Mudie’s Catalogue.</li> +<li>An Almanac giving the changes of the moon.</li> +<li>“The Old Red Sandstone.” Hugh Miller.</li> +<li>The Stores Price List.</li> +<li>Mrs. Hemans’ Poems.</li> +<li>The Scottish Student’s Song Book.</li> +<li>Kipling’s “Kim.”</li> +</ul> + + + +<div class="center"><br /><span class="smcap">Self.</span></div> + + +<ul class="booklist"><li>All Ruskin’s Works.</li> +<li>“The Wide, Wide World.”</li> +<li>“The Country of the Pointed Firs.” S. O. Jewett.</li> +<li>All my Gardening Books and Florists’ Seed Catalogues.</li> +<li>All my Wild Flower Books.</li> +<li>“A Little Book of Western Verse.” Eugene Field.</li> +<li>Poems by Ann and Jane Taylor.</li> +<li>All my Cookery Books.</li> +<li>All the Board of Agriculture’s Leaflets.</li> +<li>A Book on Deer Culture.</li></ul> + + + +<p>Of course, we each gazed in profound surprise +and contempt on the others’ lists, and asked why +this and that had been put down. Why did +Ursula want a guide to London, when the object +of going to The Island was to get away from +London?</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span></p> + +<p>She said she thought you ought to keep in +touch with things even if you were away; and if +it came to that, why did I want a Deer book, +since I couldn’t look at venison?</p> + +<p>I said I felt it in me that I should start +keeping deer as soon as I landed, and there was +more sense in doing that than in reading a Time +Table, for instance!</p> + +<p>Virginia protested a Time Table was absolutely +essential, else how would you ever be able +to get away when you wanted to? And you +never knew <i>when</i> you might be summoned to +anyone’s funeral in a hurry, and was she supposed +to be cut off from <i>all</i> human enjoyment? +Whereas no one could possibly want a Student’s +Song Book, when they couldn’t sing two notes in +tune; and, also, why Mrs. Hemans, might she +venture to ask?</p> + +<p>“Yes, who would dream of carting around a +Mrs. Hemans in these days?” I scoffed.</p> + +<p>“The frontispiece engraving of Mrs. Hemans +always reminded me of mother’s Aunt Matilda,” +said Ursula impressively. “I only saw her +twice, but on the first occasion she gave me a +doll, and on the second a blue and white bead +necklace; I’ve got three of the beads left, in my +workbox. And I’ve always loved beads, and I +loved her in consequence, and I wouldn’t dream +of being parted from Mrs. Hemans. And, in +any case, why bring a Dictionary?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Because I may require to look up a more +expressive word occasionally, or enlarge my flow +of vocabulary,” Virginia explained. “And I +conclude I’m not expected to be absolutely dumb +when we get there!”</p> + +<p>Of course, I don’t mean to imply that these +are necessarily the books we should have named +had we sat down thoughtfully to compile a list +most representative of our tastes and needs; but +whatever list I had made, I’m sure I should have +included the volumes I named; and it goes to +show that the books that make an individual +appeal to us are not necessarily those that our +friends expect us to name.</p> + +<p>The library catalogue was never completed, +for, before we had time further to criticize each +other’s preferences, we were pulled up short by +a sound.</p> + +<p>We all stopped our chatter on an instant, for +surely and certainly there could be no mistaking +it, there was the ring of an iron spade +chinking on stone! When last we had looked +out, just after breakfast, not a stone had been +visible for a spade to chink against in the +whole vicinity. We flew to the door, and there, +touching his hat with a smiling “Good morning, +ma’am,” stood the elderly handy man who ought +to have been in bed with his bad cold; and +behold, a clear path to the lane. He had worked +from the gate inwards, and we had been so busy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> +with our discussions indoors, we had not heard +him till he reached the porch.</p> + +<p>“I was only able to get down downstairs +yesterday,” the invalid explained. “But in any +case it wasn’t no good coming over till that spell +o’ snow was down, even if I’d been fit to come +out.” Then, after a detailed description of +symptoms and sufferings and so forth—“Yes, I +think there’s a good bit more to come down yet. +Nothing won’t be able to be got up from the +village yet awhile; they tell me the drifts is +eight feet deep in places. Maybe in a few days +I’ll be able to get down. I’ll be wanting some +sharps soon myself for the fowls, so I’ll have to +try and get down by the end of the week. And +the butcher’s killing himself this week, I could +bring you up a j’int. I’ve knocked up a good +bit of kindling wood in the wood shed, so you’ll +be all right now.”</p> + +<p>Yes, we were all right now, from one point +of view; but I devoutly hoped he would not +wait till the end of the week before he went for +those “sharps,” for I had discovered that we had +<i>only one loaf in the house!</i> And as they only +bake twice a week in our village, and everyone +knows how long war bread won’t keep, I need +only add that already we had to cut off all the +outside before bringing it to table, and by +to-morrow it would be quite gorgonzola-ish right +through!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span></p> + +<p>As soon as he had gone, Ursula burst forth, +“Don’t talk to me any more of the rights of +women”—no one had been, but we let it pass—“don’t +tell me they are the equals of men, and +that all they want is a good education and scope +for their energies. Look at us, haven’t <i>we</i> all +had good educations?” (Ursula and her sister +are thoroughly acquainted with the literature of +several European countries; they read Plato in +the original; and can give you reliable information +on such points as the similarity between the +tribes on the borders of Tibet and the Patagonians—if +any exists. They can certainly be +called well educated.) “And wasn’t there scope +enough for our energies out there? And then +consider what we accomplished! While a man +like that comes along—says he never went to +school in his life, just risen from a sick bed, too, +so none too strong—yet in an hour or so he’s +done what <i>we</i> should not have got through in a +month. And look at the neat job he’s made of +it, with the snow banked up trimly on each side; +why, we were about as effective and as artistic +as three fowls scratching on the surface of things. +And then look at the stack of wood he got ready +in no time. I’m sure I blushed to see him +gazing at that collection of decrepit shovels +standing in the porch——”</p> + +<p>“And well you might blush,” edged in Virginia, +“remembering how you selfishly stuck to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> +the only decent shovel there was, with never so +much as an offer to either of us to have a turn.”</p> + +<p>“—Yes, we ought to have votes, we’re so—capable!” +Ursula went on, but I begged her not +to worry her head about votes just now, as the +question of food was of greater national importance.</p> + +<p>At the word “food” of course everyone was +all attention, and we made ourselves into a Privy +Council, and they appointed me Food Controller, +because it would give them the right to do all +the grumbling. But the matter was not quite +as much of a joke as they thought. For so long +they had been accustomed to a pantry stocked +with bottles and tins and stores of all descriptions +(and Virginia once remarked that to read +the labels alone—if you had lost the tin-opener—was +quite as good as a seven-course meal at a +fashionable restaurant), that they forgot things +were not like that now! In the dairy, too +(which we use as a larder), it was the usual pre-war +thing to see large open jam tarts in deep +dishes, with a fancy trellis work over the top of +the jam, and large pies with lovely water-lilies, +made from the scraps of paste, on top, and +spicy brown cakes, with a delicious odour, +standing on the stone slabs—Abigail being a +capital hand at pastry and cakes. The dairy is +built on the north side, close under the hill, and +the great stone wall that keeps the hill from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> +tumbling down on top of the dairy is packed with +hart’s-tongue and the British maiden-hair fern, +and rosettes of the pretty little scaly spleenwort, +and lacy tufts of wall rue, and practically every +other kind of fern that loves damp shade and the +English climate. And ivy runs over the lot +right up to the top, where wild roses and honeysuckle +and blackberry ramp about in the sunshine, +and often peep down to see how it fares +with their comrades in the cool ravine below. +The long fronds of the fern wave in at the dairy +window, and the ivy sends out little fingers, +catching hold wherever it can, and creeping in, +very much at home, through the wire-netting +that does duty for a window. My guests always +like to go into the dairy to see the wonderful +array of ferns; but I sometimes suspect it is also +to gaze on the appetizing-looking things that +appeal irresistibly to all who have spent an hour +or two in our hungry air!</p> + +<p>But war had made a considerable difference +alike to pantry and store-cupboard and larder, +and we had to trust to the promise of Miss +Jarvis, the lady at the village shop—and one of +the most valuable members of the community—that +we should not actually starve! As the stocks +had been used, they had not been replenished. +Cinnamon buns, lemon-curd cheese cakes, fruit +cakes with a nice crack in the top, were no +longer piled up in the larder. No home-cured<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> +ham, sewn up in white muslin, hung from the +big hook in the kitchen ceiling. No large, dried, +golden-coloured vegetable marrows hung up +beside it for winter use.</p> + +<p>We had plenty of potatoes, fortunately (and +never had we valued potatoes as we did this +year!), and we had the usual “remains” that +are in the larder, when the butcher has not +called for a few days and a family lives from +hand to mouth, as one has had to do recently, +lest one should be suspected of hoarding!</p> + +<p>There was a tin of lunch biscuits, some +cheese, and cereals; but the rest of the store +cupboard seemed exasperatingly useless when it +came to sustaining life in a snow-bound household. +What good was a tin of linseed, for +instance, or a bottle of cayenne, or a bottle of +evaporated horse-radish (with the sirloin presumably +still gambolling about somewhere in +the valley)? Why had I ever laid in a bottle of +tarragon vinegar, a bottle of salad dressing, a +box of rennet tablets, a tin of curry powder, +desiccated cocoanut, a bottle of chutney? Even +the tin of baking powder and the nutmegs and +capers seemed extravagant and superfluous. Oh, +for a simple glass of tongue—but we had opened +our only one the day we arrived!</p> + +<p>One thing was certain: while the snow +remained at its present depth, to say nothing of +an increase, no provisions could be got up from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> +the village. The steep roads were like glass the +last time we were out; now they would be +impassable for horses or vehicles, even though a +man might manage to get over them somehow. +Milk we could obtain from a neighbouring farm, +perhaps a few eggs, possibly a fowl as a very +special favour, now that our path was cleared; +but that was the utmost we could hope to raise +locally. The point to be considered was: How +long could we hold out?</p> + +<p>“Well, there is only one other thing I can +think of,” said Virginia; “you must fly signals of +distress, and hoist a flag up at the top of the +chimney—they always do in books. . . . How +are you to get the flag up the chimney? I’m +sure <i>I</i> don’t know if you don’t! What’s the good +of being an editor if you don’t know a simple +little thing like that?”</p> + +<p>But the problem was solved for me by a tap +at the door, and then one realised the superiority +of the servants of the Crown over all ordinary +individuals. It was the postman. He said +“Good morning” with the modest air of one +who knows he has accomplished a great deed, +but leaves it for others to extol.</p> + +<p>“I’ve brought up the letters,” he said; “but +I couldn’t get up the parcels to-day. There are +a good many.” I knew what that meant. My +post is necessarily a very heavy one, more +especially when I am away from town, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> +great packages of things are sent down daily. +“Is there anything I can take back with me?” +he inquired.</p> + +<p>I hastily scribbled some telegrams on urgent +matters, glad of this chance to get them sent +off; and I knew the Head of Affairs would be +glad to hear we were all well. As I handed +them to the man, he rather hesitatingly produced +a bulky newspaper parcel that had been +hidden under his big mackintosh cape, with an +apologetic look, as it were, to the Crown, that +the garment should have been put to so unofficial +an use. Then in an undertone, lest the +Postmaster-General in London might overhear, +he said—</p> + +<p>“Miss Jarvis was afraid you might be +running short of things.” The thoughtful Lady +of the Village Shop had sent up a loaf, a piece +of bacon and a pound of sugar. How I blessed +her!</p> + +<p>Next day he managed to get up some of the +small postal packages. The first one I opened +was from one of the Assistant Editors in town.</p> + +<p>“I see in the papers that you’ve had a heavy +fall of snow,” she wrote, “and as there was not +a solitary line from you this morning, I’m +wondering if you are isolated? At any rate, +I’m sending you a home-made cake and a box +of smoked sausages by this post (instead of +MSS.) in case you may be cut off from supplies.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span></p> + +<p>“If that isn’t bed-rock common sense,” said +Ursula. “Most intelligent girls would have +improved the occasion by sending you newspaper +cuttings with statistics of the latest submarine +sinkings, to keep your spirits up.”</p> + +<p>Another slight fall of snow was all the late +afternoon brought us, not enough to spoil the +newly cleared path, but sufficient to reveal the +fact next morning that someone with large +masculine boots had been promenading round +the cottage, for there were the footprints, a clear +track that even a detective could not have failed +to see, leading from the gate to the outhouses, +from the outhouses to the scullery door, from +the scullery door to the best door (it’s absurd to +call it the front door, because each side is as +much the front as the other excepting the part +that backs into the hill!), from the best door to +the door with the porch, and so on, out of the +gate again.</p> + +<p>As none of us knew anything about them, +we concluded the handy man must have returned, +bent on some new errand of mercy. But he +disowned them; had not been near the place +since the previous forenoon, and the snow had +not fallen till five o’clock. It looked exceedingly +queer, not to say uncanny, and we recalled +the fact that the dog had barked violently after +we were in bed. So far as I knew, there was +no resident on those hills who would think of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> +wandering round the house after dark; and no +tramp or odd wayfarer would ever scale those +heights unless he had some very urgent reason +for so doing, and had a definite destination. It +is too stiff a climb to take on a casual chance of +picking up anything; moreover, unless a man +knew his way, he would soon lose himself. +Though the footprints really perplexed me, I did +not say very much about them; but Eileen did.</p> + +<p>When Mr. Jones from a neighbouring farm +arrived with milk, I heard the full description +being given him at the kitchen door. He +expressed due interest, and described a mysterious +case he had just read about, in the +weekly paper, of a servant who had disappeared +from a house in London where she had been in +service for years, and no trace of her had been +found since. Eileen and he agreed as to the +many points of similarity between the two +cases.</p> + +<p>When the lad from the butcher’s came to +know what portion I wished to bespeak of the +sheep they would be killing, come Friday, I +heard Eileen once more going through the story +of the footprints, combined with details of the +missing domestic. He, in turn, told her how a +burglar had been one morning in a house next +door to his grandmother’s in Bristol, and how, +when they chased him, he jumped right over the +garden wall, into the very dish of potatoes his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> +aunt was peeling for his dinner. (The pronouns +were confusing, but I don’t think it was for the +burglar’s dinner the potatoes were intended.)</p> + +<p>The farmer’s daughter who came to inquire +if I would like a fowl, after hearing the story, +offered to lend Eileen a novelette she had just +been reading, where there were footprints exactly +like these; and in the last chapter it turns out +that the footprints were those of—I forget who +or what, but it was very enthralling, and Eileen +gratefully jumped at the offer of the loan.</p> + +<p>The old man who came to say that they +couldn’t deliver any coals till the weather broke, +remarked that he didn’t like the look of it at all, +and said he should be quite nervous if he were +she, and asked her if she had heard about the +old woman who had been found dead in her +bed in Yorkshire, died of cold, and fifty golden +sovereigns tied up in the middle of her pillow? +Eileen had not heard of it. The old man said it +was as well to keep your eyes open, as there +were funny people in the world, and this seemed +to him just such another affair.</p> + +<p>And much more to the same effect.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>That night I was suddenly awakened by a +sound, though at first I could not tell what it +was. I lay wide awake, holding my breath: +then it came again, a gentle rasp, rasp, as though +someone were scraping something with a metal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> +tool. At the same moment I heard Virginia +and Ursula stirring in the next room. I stole in +to them; they too were listening. And then +we realised that the burglar had really come! +From the direction of the sound we knew he +was scraping away the putty, or something of +the sort, from a pane of glass that was let into +the scullery door. If he managed to get through +that, he could undo the bolt, and would be free +of the place.</p> + +<p>What were we to do, we asked each other in +whispers? Of course, previously, I had always +known what I should do if a burglar ever came +to my house. I should go downstairs, throw +open the door and confront him unafraid, asking +him in a firm but most melodious voice what +had brought him to such a low moral depth, and +urging him to better things. He would be so +undone by the sight of me and the sound of the +music of my voice, that he would crumple up +at my feet and confess all his past burglaries. +Whereupon, I should motion him to come in +and take a seat, while I hastily prepared a cup +of Bovril, and cut him a large plate of cold roast +beef; and on his observing that I had passed +him the mustard pot without first removing the +silver spoon, he would be so overcome by my +confidence in him that he would voluntarily vow +to turn over a new leaf. He would leave with +half-a-crown in his pocket. And years afterwards<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> +a prosperous man would knock at my +door, bearing in his hand half-a-crown, etc.</p> + +<p>But this particular case did not seem to fit in +with my previous programme for the reception +of burglars. In the first place there was no +Bovril in the house; and secondly, there was no +beef, only a tiny piece of cold mutton in the +larder—and you can’t do anything heroic with +only cold mutton.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the man was scraping away downstairs, +and we did not know but what he would +be in upon us any moment.</p> + +<p>“Shall we let the dog loose?” said Virginia.</p> + +<p>“The dog!” I repeated. “Why, where <i>is</i> +the dog? Why isn’t he barking?” Until +that moment we had forgotten him entirely. +There was no sound of him below; and he is a +ferocious little thing if strangers come anywhere +near the place.</p> + +<p>“Oh, then they’ve poisoned him!” gasped +Ursula, almost in tears. “They’ve got some +poisoned meat in to him somehow, under the +door perhaps, and he’ll be lying there a corpse, +and we never thinking of him.” We all three +crept as silently as we could downstairs, to find +“the corpse” remarkably cheerful, with his nose +at the crack of an outer door, every hair of his +body on end with tension, his ears cocked up, +and every muscle of him on the alert—but not a +ghost of a bark did he give, only a perfunctory<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> +waggle of his tail, just as an acknowledgment of +our presence, and an apology that he was too +much engaged at the moment to give us more +attention. There was not much poison about +that dog! As the scraping got louder, and my +teeth were chattering violently (but only with +the cold, as I explained to the other two), I fled +upstairs again, and they followed.</p> + +<p>“What <i>do</i> you usually do when burglars +come?” whispered Virginia.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. I’ve never had one before,” +I moaned.</p> + +<p>“Didn’t you once tell me you had a bell, or +something of the sort?” said Ursula.</p> + +<p>“Why, yes; I had forgotten that.” I keep +a huge bell under the bed at the head, and I +always intended to ring it violently out of the +window if a burglar ever came. (Scrape, scrape, +scrape, continued down below.) “I don’t suppose +anyone on these hills would wake up to +listen; but, at any rate, it might worry the +burglar and send him off.”</p> + +<p>“Let’s ring it now,” said Virginia eagerly, +“and then, when he is well <i>outside</i> the gate, of +course, we’ll let the dog run out after him.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” I agreed. “But first I want to +go into Eileen’s room, and peep out of her +window and see <i>who</i> is below. Her window +is just over the scullery door, and is always +open at night. If it is anyone from the district—though<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> +I don’t believe it is—I should recognise +him.”</p> + +<p>So we tip-toed into Eileen’s room, where she +lay sound asleep.</p> + +<p>“When I give the signal, you ring,” I said.</p> + +<p>Cautiously, slowly, silently, I got my head a +little further and further out of the window, +shaking with ague from head to foot. And there +I saw the burglar—he was Farmer Jones’s dog +(alias the wolf, you remember), and he had got +hold of a sardine tin that had been emptied that +day. He was having a lovely time, licking that +tin out, and as he licked, so it scraped and +scraped on the stones. No wonder my own dog +did not bark; he knew it was his ancient enemy +without, and the instinct of the dog of war was +to wait stealthily till the foe should get within +his reach.</p> + +<p>“Don’t ring the bell!” I whispered +hoarsely, and we crept out of the room.</p> + +<p>“I think it’s just as well Eileen did not +wake,” I said, as we made ourselves a midnight +cup of tea before turning in again, “for I’ve no +desire to hear <i>this</i> episode being related all day +long at the kitchen door!”</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Have you ever sat by the fire indoors, when +the ground has been covered with snow, and the +sky grey and heavy, till you have been “absolutely +<i>perished</i> with the cold,” and then someone<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> +has come and dragged you out (or, if you have +wonderfully uncommon sense, you have dragged +yourself out), and plunged right into it—a +shrivelled-up martyr! After ten minutes spent +in trying to sweep the snow from the path, what +have you felt like?</p> + +<p>I plunged right out into it—simply because +the two girls were bragging such a deal about +their own heroic fortitude in forsaking the fireside +at the call of life’s stern duties, or something +like that. But first of all I put on a knitted +hug-me-tight; then my leather motoring undercoat; +then my big cloth coat; and finally, my +mackintosh. I tied on a woollen sports cap +with a winter motor scarf; I turned up my coat +collar, and put on a fur necklet; and, of course, +I didn’t forget gaiters and warm gloves.</p> + +<p>Then I stood on the doorstep and looked out—if +you believe me, the cold went right through +me, and fairly rattled my bones inside.</p> + +<p>Still, I wasn’t going to be outdone in misery +by the other two, and noticing that the bushes +were actually breaking down under the load of +snow, I seized a broom and sallied forth. After +all, if one has to die a martyr’s death, one may +as well occupy the final moments in doing useful +kindnesses for one’s family.</p> + +<p>It is some sort of solace to picture how they +will eventually say, “To think of her doing all +that, when——”; or, “To the last she never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> +gave in; why only the very day——!”; +or, “Ah! how often have I seen the poor +dear——!” etc.</p> + +<p>So I made for the pink rhododendron, that +was suffering badly; being evergreen, its large +rosettes of leaves, surrounding each flower-bud +of the future, had caught and held great masses +of snow; the lower branches were literally buried +beneath the heavy drifts.</p> + +<p>But as I found I couldn’t get at it without +clearing a way through a three-foot bank of +snow, I set to work with a spade. It sounds +simple enough, I know; but unless you’ve been +getting your living at snow-clearing, you would +never believe what a lot there is to it, when you +start to make a nice serviceable path through +a drift from two to three feet deep, and six feet +long.</p> + +<p>I reached the pink rhododendron at last. +Getting my broom against a main stem, I shook +it gently. What a lovely shower came down! +I don’t know that I needed it all over me, +personally; nor was it necessary to choke up +half the cutting I had just made. Still, down it +came, white billows and a rain of silver powder. +I never knew what snow was really like, till I +shook it all over me, and the sun suddenly came +out and turned the cascade to a gleaming white +radiance.</p> + +<p>Having got well smothered to start with, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> +decided I might just as well go on; and that I +could dispense with the motor undercoat, which +I left hanging on the bush. Lower down the +garden I could hear the clink and scrape of +shovel and spade against the stones, as the other +two cleared the snow from the various little +flights of rough stone steps that take you up or +down, from one level of the garden to another. +But I didn’t feel like clearing steps just then; +it was too niggly. I wanted something bigger +than that, and I somehow had a desire to work +alone, so I struck a path that went up the +garden, and began to work my way towards the +top gate, clearing as I went.</p> + +<p>As I bent over the smooth glistening surface, +I was amazed to see the number of messages +written there for those who know the language +of the wilds well enough to read them! What +a scurrying to and fro of little feet had been +going on since the snowfall, all on the one quest—food +and water! Birds innumerable had left +their signatures; some I knew, some I could not +identify, save that they were birds. Rabbits I +could trace; stoats, too, might have made some +of the writing in the snow; and there were +bigger tracks—perhaps a fox.</p> + +<p>Everywhere there were tidings of other wayfarers, +other workers, other seekers—the many +other dwellers who have their homes somewhere +between the larch-woods and the weir. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> +moment before the place had seemed a frost-locked, +deserted, uninhabitable waste of snow; +now I saw it was teeming with life, brave, persistent, +not-to-be-daunted life, that in spite of +cold and hardship and privation and a universal +stoppage of supplies, still set out, with unquenchable +faith, on the quest for the food +which they have learnt to know is invariably +forthcoming, “in due season.”</p> + +<p>The surprising thing to me is the fact that +such small bodies can ever survive such a welter +of snow. Aren’t they afraid they will sink down +and be swallowed up in it? Have they no fear +lest they lose their way, with the old landmarks +obliterated? Doesn’t it strike terror to the +heart when they find their doorway blocked, and +themselves snowed up in burrow or hole? Yet, +judging by outside evidence, it would seem that +none of these things daunt them; an obstacle is +merely something to be surmounted.</p> + +<p>To my mind the most pathetic thing about +it all is the fact that their chief fear seems to be +fear of human beings, a dread of the very ones +who could, and ought to, befriend them.</p> + +<p>In my clearing I moved a small wooden box +that had been used for seedlings, and since had +lain unnoticed beside a hedge. Underneath a +tiny field mouse had taken refuge. It seemed +almost paralysed with terror when I suddenly +lifted the box, and escape was blocked on every<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> +side by banks of snow. The poor little thing +just sat up on its hind legs and looked at me +most pitifully. I can’t say that I exactly cultivate +mice, in an ordinary way, but—here was a +fellow-creature in distress, such a little one too; +I couldn’t have refused its appeal. I quickly +put the box over it again, and clearing a space +by the hole it had used as a door, I put down +some bird-seed—I always carry something in +my coat pocket for the birds—and I went away. +Ten minutes later, every bit was gone.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Working my way round to another thicket +of rhododendrons, that is a bank of purple and +creamy white in June, once more I sent the +silver-dust flying with my trusty broom. As one +great mass came hurtling down, it so deluged +me that for the moment I had to hold my breath, +shut my eyes, and clutch on to a branch to keep +myself from being buried under it. And then I +heard a tragic whimper.</p> + +<p>Turning round, I saw the small white dog, +shaking himself out of the mass—and such a +dingy-dirty object his <i>passé</i> white coat looked +against the snow! I had left him indoors, a +melancholy little figure, very sorry for himself, +by reason of a swelled face. He will persist in +lying with his nose to the bottom crack of the +back door, irrespective of wind or weather, ever +hopeful that a hare or a fox may come trailing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> +by; and then—oh joy! what a turmoil there is +within (he quite fancies he is “baying”), and +what a scurrying of fur and feet without!</p> + +<p>Having got him in, and rubbed him down, +and wrapped him up in his favourite bit of old +blanket, and given him a bone (which he couldn’t +eat, poor little chap, but he had it in his basket +with him, against such times as his mouth was +in working order again), I returned to the garden—you +couldn’t have kept me out of it now! I +found I didn’t need the hug-me-tight, however, +and I left it on the orchard gate.</p> + +<p>What a work it was, tumbling over stone +edgings one forgot were there, tripping over tree +trunks and logs—the whole place seemed strewn +with obstacles one never noticed until the snow +covered them over.</p> + +<p>I picked myself up continually, and worked on +with my broom. Virginia came up once to point +out to me my appalling lack of scientific method; +but as I have never had any illusions on this +point, it didn’t worry me. Ursula volunteered +the information that I looked like Don Quixote +tilting at a windmill, each time I attacked a +bush or tree. I knew she was merely jealous of +my ability. I’m not one to let a little thing +like that deter me from my course of well-doing. +I merely took off my fur necklet and thick +motor scarf, and left them on a stile, so sunburnt +was I getting beneath them.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span></p> + +<p>And how grateful even the dry cracking +twigs of the rose bushes seemed to be for the +lifting of the load that bowed down one and all. +The hollies had been trying bravely to hold up +their heads, but it was hard work; every leaf +had held out a little curved hand to catch a few +snowflakes as they fell, and the total result was +a mound that threatened to break the trees to +pieces. They, too, shook themselves cheerfully, +when I relieved them of their burden.</p> + +<p>I could not do much to help the lesser +plants; they were mostly buried beneath the +snow, and I hoped they were the warmer in +consequence. The poor wallflowers, that had +been so sprightly with opening yellow buds when +we arrived, now showed only shrivelled branches +above the snow.</p> + +<p>As I broomed my way towards the vegetable +garden, I noticed that the birds were gathering +near—they had kept away before, while the dog +was about. But now the starlings began to +shriek from the roof of the big barn. “Look at +her! Look at her! What’s the use of wasting +time on rose trees! No grub’s there! Look at +her! Shaking snow down! Just as though +there wasn’t enough on the ground before!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, do be quiet!” shouted back a rook. +“Just look at our nest! It would have been +such an up-to-date affair, too; wife built it on the +new war-economy lines—clever bird my wife is—only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> +three sticks, you know; saves waste; +and <i>now</i> look at it! Wife can’t even find the +sticks!”</p> + +<p>“Serves her right,” cawed a neighbour (a lady, +I feel sure). “She shouldn’t have started so +early—always trying to get ahead of everyone +else with her spring cleaning!”</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The sun had got the better of the clouds, and +had changed the whole earth from grey to gold, +from dead white to a gleaming brilliance, yellow +in the sunlight, blue—undiluted blue—in the +shade. I had seen blue snow in pictures, and +had hitherto regarded it as an artistic exaggeration. +But now I saw the blue with my own +eyes on the north side of the walls and barns, +and where long shadows were cast by the +Wellingtonia, the hollies, and the evergreen firs. +The mist still hovered over the valleys, and shut +us off from the lower lands, but it was no longer +cold and sombre; indeed, it was no longer mist +at all; it seemed just light enmeshed, a liquid +golden atmosphere.</p> + +<p>The snow gleamed and scintillated with its +diamond-dusted surface; the trunks of the Scots +firs surprised one with the sudden warmth of red +they showed when struck by the sunbeams, and +the lovely colour still left in their blue-green +foliage.</p> + +<p>Far and wide the birds answered the call of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> +the sun. Big pinions flew across the sky, casting +shadows on the snow-scape as they passed; small +birds darted in and out of holes in tree trunks, or +crannies under the eaves; there was a cheeping +and a chattering all over the garden and the +orchard; while up and down the larches flitted +the tits—the blue-tits swinging upside down, +almost turning somersaults, as the notion chanced +to take them; the coal-tits, any number of them, +skipping about from branch to branch, never +still a moment, always talking in their brisk +little twitter; while over all there rang incessantly +the “Pinker, pinker, peter, peter,” of the +great-tit.</p> + +<p>Near at hand, robin, my little garden companion, +was having a good deal to say. At first +I think he was reiterating what he had often +said before: that he considered the dog a +nuisance that ought to be banished from any +properly conducted garden, since his habit of +chasing every moving object within sight was +disturbing, to say the least of it, to a conscientious +worm-hunter.</p> + +<p>Having finished on this subject, he began to +talk about other things; but try as I would, I +could not understand what he said; yet I knew +he was trying to tell me <i>something</i>. He kept +taking short flights over to the wall, and then +back to some branch near at hand. “Twitter, +twitter,” he kept on saying; yet he never even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> +noticed the path I was clearing, back he would +fly to the wall.</p> + +<p>At last, as he impatiently fluffed out his +feathers, perched on a white currant bush, till he +looked like a ball, saying a lot more the while, I +made my way through the snow to the wall. +He darted after me, and stood on top of a mound +of leaves that had been swept together last +autumn, and left to stand till the spring digging +should start. Being on the south side of the +wall, and sheltered a little by the wide-spreading +branches of a big Spanish chestnut, it had +escaped a good deal of the snow, though it was +frozen hard on the surface.</p> + +<p>Here robin stood, and when he saw I was +looking at him, he pecked several times with his +beak at the solid mass. Then he flicked his tail +and gazed at me. “Surely you understand what +I want?” he said with his beady eyes. “No? +Oh! how stupid human beings are! Well, +watch me again!” Dab, dab, dab, went the +small beak once more, without making the +slightest impression on the ice-bound lumps.</p> + +<p>Then I grew intelligent.</p> + +<p>“Out of the way,” I said to him, and he flew +to a low branch of the tree and watched me +critically, while I drove the spade well into the +mass.</p> + +<p>“That’s right,” he chirped out excitedly, as I +turned it over and got down to the softer portion,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> +spreading the leaves about. “Why on earth +couldn’t you have done that sooner!” as he +swooped down to my very feet and seized something +wriggly—gulp! I looked away.</p> + +<p>What ninety-ninth sense is it, I wonder, that +tells birds when food is about? One moment +robin and I had the chestnut tree and its environment +to ourselves. Next moment, directly I +turned away, down came thrushes, and blackbirds, +and starlings; and though robin put his +foot down firmly, said it was all his, every worm +of it, and dared anyone else to touch so much as +a caterpillar-egg, or he’d know the reason why, +he was outdone by numbers, and finally lost +what he might have had because he considered +it his duty to chastise Mr. Over-the-wall-robin, +who had presumed to say that the leaf-heap +belonged to him!</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>At last I got to the top gate, which is about +one hundred feet higher than the lower part of +the garden. What a wonderful world I gazed +upon, so weird, so immensely mysterious it +looked under the great snow covering. The +valleys where the sun did not penetrate were +entirely blotted out by soft mist. One seemed +to be alone, high up in space, girdled about by +white and grey, gold and mauve and steely-blue; +I wanted to push on and on, to walk +miles and miles, to fly if I could. The fact<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> +was, the exhilaration of the keen pure atmosphere +was already beginning to tell on me, and +was fast mounting to my head.</p> + +<p>One thing I caught sight of on the opposite +hills gave me pause for thought: it was a larch-wood +in which every tree was blown so far over +to one side, that there would be but little chance +of their ever recovering or getting into the upright. +I remembered that the handy man had +told us trees were lying in all directions out in +the main road. I decided to climb still higher +up the hill and see what my own woods looked +like. First, however, I took off the big coat, +and left it hanging on the under bough of a +larch inside the gate.</p> + +<p>Out of the top gate I went, and along the lane +that now showed a moderately hard path along +the centre, where one and another had trampled +it down. A few yards brought me to a field +that in June is one dazzling, waving mass of +moon daisies, mauve pyramidal orchises, rich +purple orchises, quaking grass, and a hundred +other flowers besides. Not a first class hay-crop, +I admit; still, a fair-sized rick stands in one +corner. And although it may not possess strong +feeding qualities for cattle, this field has wonderful +feeding qualities for mind and soul; I’ve +lived on it many and many a day through dreary +London fogs and amid dirty City pavements and +sordid-looking bricks and mortar. And when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> +town has seemed unendurable, with its noise and +its hustle and its brain-and-body-wearying chase +after the unnecessary, I’ve thought of the brook +that slips out from among a great mass of +Hard Fern in the birch and hazel coppice up +above, and wanders across the orchis field, with +ragged robins fluttering their tattered pink petals +beside the sterner browns and greens of flowering +reeds, and broad masses of marsh mint—that is +a mass of bluey-mauve in August—spreading in +big clumps and bosses wherever it can find a bit +of damp earth.</p> + +<p>I’ve shut my eyes in the noisy City train, +and in a moment I’ve gathered a big bunch of +the quaking grass, brown, with a tinge of purple, +and the yellow stamens dangling from each little +tuft. And the comfort that the brook and the +orchises and the reeds and the under carpet of +tiny flowers have brought me, has been worth +more to me, personally, than the money that +twenty haystacks might have realised.</p> + +<p>But to-day the field was just one white sheet, +like all the rest of the landscape. Along the +south side of the wall the snow was not so +heavy, and using the broom as an alpenstock, +I plodded up the field—giving a wide berth to +the place where the brook was down below—till +at last I reached the woods, first a coppice of +birch and hazel and oak, and adjoining it a +larch-wood.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span></p> + +<p>Once under the trees, the going was “all +according”! It depended on whether the snow +was still on the branches, or had come down in +small avalanches to the ground beneath. But I +determined to struggle on. I was warmer than +I had been since the previous summer, and more +pleased with life than I had been since before +the War started. The larch-wood offered the +easier travelling, since there are not the down-drooping, +low-lying branches of sundries that are +always catching at one’s hat and hair in the +mixed woods. With the larches you know just +what to expect and where to find it. The +needles make a fairly soft carpet, brambles are +rare, and all you have to do is to gauge the level +of the lowest of the bare brown branches, and +pitch your head accordingly.</p> + +<p>I looked at the wood before I ventured in. +Everything seemed as usual. The outside trees +that border the field are mixed firs, pines, and +Wellingtonia. These do not shed their leaves +as the larches do, and they stood up strong and +erect, save where the heaviest laden boughs were +bending under their weight of snow.</p> + +<p>For the first few yards the trees were normal, +standing in orderly ranks, much like the aisles of +an old ruined cathedral, wherein the snow has +freedom of entry. Every twig, every cone, had +its glistening decoration. When a gust of wind +shook tree or branches, down came the snow, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> +powder for the most part, for the under branches +broke the masses as they fell, and sent them +flying in all directions.</p> + +<p>Suddenly I emerged from the sombre half +light of the wood, into brilliant sunshine, with +clear space above. Yet—I wasn’t through the +wood; what did it mean? And what were +these great white masses that blocked all further +progress? I had never seen this spot before, +though I know every tree in that wood; to me +they are like individual children.</p> + +<p>Then I saw that what lay before me was a +piled-up mass of trees, torn bodily up by the +roots and lying in all directions one on top of each +other. For a moment something almost akin +to fear seized me, the awesomeness that comes +over one when in the presence of a force that is +utterly beyond one’s puny power to compass or +restrain. Here was a footprint, indeed, of the +storm that had done this stupendous thing.</p> + +<p>The fringe of the wood all round was intact; +the blizzard seemingly having swirled down, a +veritable whirlwind, into the very centre of the +plantation, tearing the trees out of the ground, +and flinging them about in uncontrolled fury.</p> + +<p>It was an impressive sight—even with the +kindly snow covering up the wounds and the +gashes, and doing its best to obliterate the harsh +look of devastation that lay over the scene.</p> + +<p>Retracing my steps, I ran into another<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> +explorer who was likewise trying to dodge a +snow-bath round a tree trunk.</p> + +<p>It was Virginia.</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry to interrupt your meditations,” +she said politely, “and I won’t detain you a +moment. I’ve merely come to ask if you would +mind lending me your rubbers—not your best +ones you have on, but the second best with the +seven holes in the soles and one heel gone—in +order that I may go to the neighbours and borrow +a slice of bread. ‘We ain’t like them as asks,’” +she went on, quoting a favourite expression +of a well-known whiner in the village, whose +practice is to take without asking, “‘but it do +seem hard when you see yer own flesh and blood +a-crying for vittels.’ Not that I would presume +to interfere with your household arrangements +and upset your meals, but what with Ursula in +a dead faint making her will, and Eileen packing +up to return to her grandmother in order to get +something to eat——”</p> + +<p>“What’s the time?” I cut her short.</p> + +<p>“It was two when last I saw the clock, but +I’ve wandered miles since then in search of you, +hence the fact that my own rubbers are worn +out.”</p> + +<p>Then I remembered that I had never mentioned +the matter of meals to Eileen that +morning; though, in any case, there wasn’t much +that could be cooked till that sheep was killed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> +come Friday: we had naught but the remains of +a shoulder of mutton.</p> + +<p>“How did you find where I was?” I enquired, +as we ploughed our way back.</p> + +<p>“Footprints, oh, blessed word!” she said. +“In any case, you shed your garments wherever +you went, and thoughtfully left your coat hanging +in the larch avenue; Eileen saw it in the +distance and came shrieking to us that the +burglar had evidently hung himself from a tree +by the top gate!”</p> + +<p>As there proved to be nothing at all on the +mutton bone, we decided to reckon it a meatless +day, and we sat down to a lunch of bread and +cheese and coffee—each reading a cookery book +the while. The Food Authorities surely couldn’t +object to <i>that!</i>—and you’ve no idea what a +fillip it gives to a war-meal, if you’ve never +tried it.</p> + +<p>Collecting cookery books, ancient and modern, +being one of my hobbies, there was a fine assortment +to choose from. I selected “Ten Minutes +with my Chafing Dish,” and what that author +did in the time you would never credit! My +bread and cheese became, in turn, braised terrapin, +crayfish omelette, creamed oysters with +Spanish onions, escalloped chicken with mushrooms, +and fricaseed trout with paprika sauce.</p> + +<p>I had it all at the one meal, no questions +asked about the number of courses and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> +ounces of flour, and it only cost me about sixpence +including the coffee.</p> + +<p>Ursula, who had annexed a 1724 volume, ate +her frugalities to the accompaniment of Double +Rum Shrub; but, as I told her, I was thankful +I had been better brought up.</p> + +<p>Virginia chose “The Scientific Adjustment +of Food Values”; and, before she had got +through the first chapter, started to blame me +for giving them cheese <i>and</i> butter, when I might +know that both contained a sweeping majority +of proteids. Whereas, what she found she really +needed was cheese and water-melon (though +cantaloupe might take its place), and why wasn’t +there water-melon (or cantaloupe) on the table? +She had known all her life long that she needed +it—always had an undefinable longing steal o’er +her about twelve o’clock midday and again at +four-thirty—but her want had never been made +articulate before, simply because she wasn’t sure +of the name of the missing link. Now, however, +if I expected to retain my hold on their +affections, she must really ask me to see that +water-melon——</p> + +<p>But I was too deep in the enjoyment of a +dish of anchovy and caviare canapes at the +moment to interfere. I left her at it.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>In the afternoon, as we were short of milk, +I suggested that we should go ourselves to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> +Jones’s farm in search of more. There was a +beaten track along the lanes now, so we took +the tin milk-can and started off uphill, thereby +just missing the Head of Affairs, who came +swinging up the road from the village. Having +seen the finally departing back of the very last +workman, he had caught the next train and +arrived unannounced.</p> + +<p>The wind was keen when he got up out of +the valley, so he turned up his coat collar and +rammed his cap well on his head. Finding the +cottage door locked, he knocked briskly and +started to inquire for me, when Eileen (whom +he had never seen before, remember) opened +the door in response to his knock. But, to his +amazement, before he got a couple of words out, +the door was banged to, in his face, and he was +informed through the large keyhole—</p> + +<p>“The lady is not—I mean—she <i>is</i> at home, +but she is engaged; she is—er—she is entertaining +friends and can’t see anyone.”</p> + +<p>Exceedingly bewildered, the caller waited a +minute, trying in vain to catch sounds of hilarity +within, and then rapped again; and, as the keyhole +seemed the correct channel of communication, +he said through the aperture—</p> + +<p>“Kindly tell your mistress that her husband +is here.”</p> + +<p>There was a pause, then the voice within +said—</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span></p> + +<p>“The lady is sorry she can’t see <i>anyone</i> to-day, +as she is ill in bed.”</p> + +<p>The mystery thickened. Going round to +the back door, which was also locked, the caller +rapped more vigorously still. This time an +agitated voice wailed from the inside—</p> + +<p>“Are you still there? Oh, <i>please</i> go away!”</p> + +<p>But, though he was exceedingly astonished +at this curious reception, he had no intention of +going, and he said so. Eileen’s next question +was unexpected.</p> + +<p>“What is your Christian name?” she began. +He told her. “What is the colour of your +hair?”</p> + +<p>He proceeded to describe himself, and +added—</p> + +<p>“If you have any doubt about me, let the +dog out, he’ll soon tell you if I’m a genuine case +or an impostor.”</p> + +<p>The dog was whining inside, and trying frantically +to get out. The girl debated, and then +said—</p> + +<p>“All right; but you won’t mind waiting a +minute?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, not at all!” he replied, with sweet +sarcasm. “I don’t mind in the least how long +I stand here in the cold. I quite enjoy it.”</p> + +<p>Then suddenly the door was flung open, and +Eileen, holding a photo of the Head of Affairs +in her hand, which she had fetched down from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> +my bedroom, started to compare it carefully +with the original.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she sighed; “you are something +like it.”</p> + +<p>But the visitor had walked in unceremoniously, +with the joyful dog leaping around.</p> + +<p>“Now,” he said severely, as he took off his +coat. “Where is your mistress?”</p> + +<p>Eileen looked mournful. “If you please, +sir, I’m <i>very</i> sorry, but I told you a <i>wicked</i> +story just now. The mistress isn’t entertaining +friends”—that was self-evident, as the cottage +living-rooms were empty, and it was hardly the +kind of day one would choose to entertain +friends in the garden—“and she isn’t ill in bed +neither. She isn’t here at all. But I didn’t like +to say so at first. I was afraid, not knowing +who you were, and coming after the shock. +Have you heard the awful news?”</p> + +<p>“No!” exclaimed the harassed, hungry man, +jumping to his feet again in alarm. “What’s +happened?”</p> + +<p>“Haven’t you heard?” and Eileen lowered +her voice to an hysterical whisper. “<i>We’ve +discovered footprints!</i>”</p> + +<p>By this time the Head of Affairs was quite +convinced in his mind that either the girl was +not in the full possession of her senses, or else she +had been to see a Robinson Crusoe pantomime, +and it had turned her brain, so he merely said—</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Well, perhaps you’ll now try if you can +discover some coffee, and that as quickly as +possible.” And he dismissed her when he had +ascertained where we had gone, as he was rather +weary of the whole performance.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Meanwhile my guests and I were making a +few neighbourly calls in passing. In a scattered +community that is often cut off by the weather +from intercourse with its fellow-kind, a little +gossip is always welcome. Not idle gossip, I +would have you understand; but talk on things +of serious import. For instance, I was naturally +very glad to learn from one of my neighbours +that old Mrs. Blossom had not been secretly +harbouring a German spy after all, as it turned +out that the masculine under-vests that had been +hung out each week lately with the wash really +belonged to her late husband; and after cherishing +them for five years, she had decided it was +more patriotic to wear them herself at a time +like this, than to buy herself new ones when +wool was so badly needed for the troops.</p> + +<p>It was a real satisfaction to get this mystery +cleared up at last, as her clothes-line each +Monday morning (when the weather was fine) +had worried us greatly. When I say “us” I +don’t mean myself necessarily, because I fear I +hadn’t kept track of her washing as I ought to +have done if I called myself a friend and neighbour.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> +Most remiss of me, of course. Still, +there it was; and I had no need now to creep +along beside the hedge and take an inventory of +her garments; neither need I fear for the safety +of our hill.</p> + +<p>Fortunately, with us time is of no importance, +the clock really doesn’t signify, even +if it goes, which isn’t guaranteed; we divide +the day into three meals, which are regulated +by the three trains that puff up the valley, +week-days only. Sunday is more of a problem, +if you have children to be got off to +Sunday-school; but as Mrs. Jasper has the one +reliable clock up in our corner of the hills, her +children set the pace; and when Maudie Jasper’s +starched China silk Sunday frock is seen to be +coming along the lane, accompanied by other +little Jaspers in Lord Fauntleroy blue velvet +suits and a bunch of everlasting pea, blush roses +and southernwood for teacher, then the two or +three other cottages in the vicinity hurry up and +add their quota to the little procession that +walks decorously (so long as it is in sight of +maternal eyes) down the hillside trail to the +Sunday-school in the valley.</p> + +<p>Of course awkward mistakes sometimes +happen, as they do in the best of well-regulated +families. It was so on the occasion of the first +introduction of Daylight Saving. Naturally the +weekly newspaper and the vicar and the schoolmaster,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> +and everybody, had explained to everybody +else that on a certain Saturday night the +clock must be put forward one hour, etc. We +are anything but behind the times on our hills, +and no clocks in the whole of the British Isles +were set forward an hour more eagerly than ours +were; only, obviously, if you haven’t a clock +that goes, you can’t set it forward; therefore +our little corner looked feverishly in the direction +of the Jasper clock, and frequently reminded +the Jaspers of their national duty.</p> + +<p>To make quite sure that the important rite +wasn’t overlooked, Mrs. Jasper put the hands of +the clock on an hour when first she got up on the +Saturday morning, instead of last thing at night, +as the authorities had decreed. An hour more +or less made no difference to the family, seeing +that it was Saturday and no school to be thought +of. Meals came as a matter of course, and quite +irrespective of clocks. Mrs. Jasper knew that if +she didn’t see to the thing no one else would. +So she got it off her mind nice and early.</p> + +<p>Later in the day Mr. Jasper thought of the +new official regulations <i>re</i> Daylight Saving; and +knowing the uselessness of ever hoping to get a +brain that was merely feminine to grasp any +great truth as set forth in newspapers, he himself +put the clock on an hour; as master of the +house he regarded it as his peculiar office to see +that the law was duly enforced. He didn’t<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> +mention the matter to his wife; what would be +the good? And it wasn’t her concern anyhow; +but as he shut the door of the clock, he wondered +where indeed the household would be if +it were not for him and his thoughtful habits!</p> + +<p>Then there was Maudie Jasper. Being a +bright child of twelve, brought up on modern +educational lines, naturally she had no very high +opinion of her parents’ intellects. Since it was +she who illumined the home with the torch of +learning, she felt it devolved on her to see +that the clock kept abreast of current events. +Besides, she was a shining example in the matter +of Sunday-school tickets; she didn’t intend to +be late next morning. So she, too, put on the +hands an hour.</p> + +<p>It was just as Mrs. Jasper was going upstairs +to bed at night, tired out with the Saturday night +bathing of the children, that the clock stared +her in the face, and the question arose: Had +she, or had she not, put on that clock an hour +as she had meant to? Her memory isn’t good +at the best of times, and she was especially done +up with a day that somehow had not seemed +<i>nearly</i> long enough for its accustomed duties, +though she couldn’t make out why. But to +make quite sure, she gave the hands a flick +round; better be quite certain than have Maudie +late for Sunday-school. Only she did wish they +didn’t leave <i>everything</i> for her to do!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span></p> + +<p>Next morning, when the Vicar drew up his +blind at 7 <small>A.M.</small>, as is his unfailing wont, he saw a +small group of children standing forlornly outside +the Sunday-school door, waiting for the +10 o’clock opening!</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Mrs. Jasper’s was the next cottage we called +at, to inquire after her husband, who was now at +the front. Mrs. Jasper was delighted to see us, +and of course asked if we had further news of +the burglar, the fame of our footprints having +spread far and wide. She told us all about the +neuralgia in her head, and seemed much relieved +when we assured her that it was not at +all likely to turn to appendicitis.</p> + +<p>She had had a lurking fear that if it became +appendicitis, she would have to go to a hospital, +and she hadn’t much belief in hospitals. There +was her sister’s little boy Tommy, up in London, +just four years old, and all nerves, as you may +say; screamed and kicked like anything if you +didn’t give him what he wanted the moment he +asked for it. They couldn’t do nothing with +him.</p> + +<p>At last they decided to take him to a hospital; +so her sister-in-law and “his” mother +went with her. And what do you think the +doctor said, after they’d told him the symptoms? +“Temper,” he says; “just bad temper. Take +him home, and spank him next time it comes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> +on.” And that was all they got!—cost them +fivepence each for car-fares too!</p> + +<p>We asked after her own family. Maudie +was getting on splendidly at school, “really a +first-class scholard she is, although it’s I that say +it. Can read the Bible beautifully now—or at +any rate the Testament” (with a desire to be +absolutely truthful). “And when I’m writing +to her father, and can’t quite rec’lect how to +spell a word, she can tell me two or three +different ways of spelling it, right off pat!”</p> + +<p>At the next cottage we stopped to inquire +after a man who had met with an accident, +which necessitated the amputation of one leg +below the knee. Having given him all our own +“Surgical Aid” letters, and fleeced our friends of +theirs, I naturally asked why he wasn’t wearing +the artificial limb that had been procured? (it +was reposing artistically on the top of the chest +of drawers in the kitchen, a stuffed sea-gull under +a glass shade on one side, balanced by a wedding-cake-top-ornament +under glass on the other). +Wasn’t it comfortable? I asked. Didn’t it fit?</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes’m, thank you; it fits beautiful. +But that’s my <i>best</i> leg; and the missus likes me +to keep it there where she can show it to everyone, +and I only uses it for Sundays and Bank +’Ollerdis.”</p> + +<p>Then we looked in on Mrs. Granger, a happy-go-lucky +widow who is always passing round the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> +hat. When we knocked at the kitchen door, +she was pouring down the sink the liquor in +which she had just boiled a piece of bacon. I +couldn’t help asking mildly and deferentially: +“Have you ever tried using the liquor of boiled +bacon for making pea-soup? It’s very nourishing, +as well as tasty.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Granger smiled at me indulgently. +“Well, ma’am, seeing that I’ve buried two +husbands and three children, no one, I fancy, can +give <i>me</i> points about feeding a family!”</p> + +<p>At Mrs. Jones’s we made a longer call; we +simply had to, as we were wanting milk, and she +made no move to get it, but merely stood talking. +There was the mirror over the parlour mantelpiece, +she particularly wanted us to see that. +Arundel Jones (aged eleven) had smashed a hole +right through the glass when practising bomb-throwing +in there. But would you ever know it, +the way Patricia (aged seventeen) had decorated +it? And as we couldn’t think what to say, we +looked long and earnestly at the bunch of artificial +and rather faded roses from Patricia’s hat +that had been stuck in the hole, with some green +paint daubed around on the glass to represent +leaves. Fortunately, Mrs. Jones didn’t wait for +our opinion—took it for granted, indeed, since +there could only be one opinion about such +a masterpiece—and proceeded to ask what I +thought could be done with so artistic a girl.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span></p> + +<p>And that reminded her, could I tell her +where she could write to in London for some +Loop Canvas at a penny a yard? Patricia +wanted to make some slippers for a young man +friend of hers who was at the front, and sweetly +pretty too, with forget-me-nots all over; but it +said you must have penny Loop Canvas. She +had asked for it in Chepstow, but they had never +heard of it, the cheapest they had was 1<i>s.</i> 4¾<i>d.</i>, +and no loops in it at that. But, of course, you +could get everything in London.</p> + +<p>I had never heard of the canvas myself (and +I thought I knew most that was going!), but in +any case, she wouldn’t get any canvas at 1<i>d.</i> a +yard now, I told her; she had evidently got hold +of some very old directions.</p> + +<p>No, she hadn’t; it was in last week’s <i>Home +Snippets</i>, and she got the periodical out from +among an assortment of similar data under the +horse-hair sofa squab, to show me.</p> + +<p>There, under the heading—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“<span class="smcap">A Dainty Cosy-Comfort for your Boy +in the Trenches</span>,”</p></div> + +<p>it described how to make a pair of wool-work +slippers, commencing with “Get a yard of +Penelope canvas.”</p> + +<p>Then Mrs. Jones was uneasy about her step-daughter, +Kathleen, who was in service near +Chepstow. “The food’s all right; but the lady<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> +isn’t what I call a good wife—never thinks of +brushing her husband’s best clothes and putting +them away for him of a Monday morning, and +yet I’ve never once missed doing that since I +married Jones. And I assure you, when I +married him, he hadn’t a darned sock to his +back. I’m sorry Kathleen hasn’t a better example +before her, for she’s inclined to be flighty. +She’s got a week’s holiday next month, and +nothing will do but she must go and visit her +cousin, who is working at munitions in Cardiff. +I say to her, ‘Cardiff’s a nasty noisy place; why +don’t you go and visit your Aunt Lizzie at +Penglyn, she’s so worried she can hardly hold +her head up some days, and cries from morning +till night; and would be thankful to have someone +to talk things over with; or your father’s +Cousin Ann at Caerleon, they’ve had a sight of +trouble there, and never see a soul nor go out +of the house from week end to week end; they’d +love to have you.’ But no, it’s Cardiff she +wants,” and Mrs. Jones sighed at the unaccountable +taste of one-and-twenty!</p> + +<p>“Ah, no one knows what an anxiety that girl’s +been to me,” went on the buxom, good-natured +woman, who in reality never makes a trouble of +anything, and has been a real mother to Kathleen. +“I sometimes wonder why I married her +father! But there, I will say it looks better on +your tombstone to have ‘The beloved wife of,’<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> +rather than plain Martha Miggins (as I was), all +unbelongst to no one, as it were.”</p> + +<p>Don’t imagine for a moment that this implied +matrimonial divergence on the part of Mr. and +Mrs. Jones, for a more contented couple you +couldn’t find in the village. It is merely the +polite way we have, locally, of discounting our +blessings, lest we should seem to be flaunting +our happiness in the face of less fortunate people.</p> + +<p>“By the way,” she said, as we were going out +of the door, “have you heard who it was walked +around your place the other night? Well, now, +to think I should have forgotten to mention it, +but it was no one, after all, but the policeman! +My husband was over to the police-station this +morning about that mare we’ve lost, and he mentioned +it; and, sure enough, the policeman had got +it down in his book that he crossed the hill by our +road that night, and had looked over your house.”</p> + +<p>And then I remembered that there was +a police-station in the next village, that did +duty for a very wide area of miles. And it was +usual for the policeman to patrol from one village +to another, by various routes, last thing at night, +ascertaining if the inhabitants’ doors <i>en route</i> +were all duly locked. We were much relieved +in our minds, and started for home discussing +the situation, when Virginia suddenly said—</p> + +<p>“Surely that is our dog barking further along +the lane?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span></p> + +<p>We paused to listen.</p> + +<p>“Yes, it is,” I said in surprise. “Whatever +can he be doing out here?” and we hurried on; +for the dog is a valuable one, and is never let out +without an escort. A turn in the lane brought us +face to face with a tall, familiar masculine figure.</p> + +<p>“Why, wherever have you come from?” I +exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“I’ve just made my escape from the tame +lunatic who seems to be in charge of the cottage,” +said the Head of Affairs cheerfully, as he relieved +Ursula of the quart of milk. “And I would +suggest, my dear, that the next time you propose +to turn your house into a sanatorium for +‘Mentally Deficients,’ you might give your +family due notice. A shock like that isn’t good +for one after climbing such a hill.”</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>And he might not have been particularly +mollified when, later in the evening, Eileen +offered the following apology:—</p> + +<p>“I’m very sorry, sir, that I kept you waiting +outside all that time in the cold; only how was +I to know you were a gentleman, sir, when you +looked so <i>exactly</i> like a burglar?”</p> + +<p>But, fortunately, in the interval he had discovered, +in his dressing-room, a new-but-forgotten +pair of boots, and a not-at-all-bad-considering-it’s-war-time +overcoat; and, naturally, he was +inclined to take a roseate view of life.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>XI<br /> + +<small>Exit Eileen</small></h2> + + +<p class="unindent"><span class="smcap">It</span> was six months later, and about as broiling +a Sunday afternoon as London can produce. +Virginia and I were reading in the coolest spot +in the garden, when Abigail came out and +announced, with slight acidity, “That young +person wants to know if she can see you, madam. +I told her you were engaged, but she said she +would wait.”</p> + +<p>“What is her name?” I queried; there are +so many young persons in the world.</p> + +<p>“That Eileen!” she answered, this time +with a definite sniff.</p> + +<p>“She can come out here,” I said, and forthwith +there sailed across the lawn a vision such as +never before had graced my garden.</p> + +<p>Eileen was wearing a white Jap silk skirt; a +transparent rose pink blouse, that revealed the +satin ribbon and lace camisole beneath; pink +cotton open-work stockings; white shoes; one +of those long stoles made of metallic-looking, +lustre-brown fur, so beloved of the laundry girl; +a big white hat, trimmed with the most violent +of tangerine-coloured velvet, said velvet hanging +in festoons down the back, and loops of it caught +round the front and fastened to the fur stole—on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> +one side with a large would-be-diamond lizard, +about four inches long, and on the other with +a crescent of similar make. Her hair, which +was done in a wild imitation of the latest eccentricity +of fashion, was radiant with more crescents +and a sparkling three-tiered back comb. A +string of large pearls adorned her neck.</p> + +<p>To say I was taken aback at the sight, is to +put it mildly; I was fairly dumb with astonishment. +Where in the world had that demure, +mouse-like orphan been to pick up such ideas! +Even though I knew she had gone to work in a +munition factory, I wasn’t prepared for such +developments. She soon enlightened us.</p> + +<p>After mutual polite inquiries about each +other’s health, and a few more relative to the +grandmother, she folded her hands in her lap, +sat as though posing for a photograph, and then +said: “And please, how do you think I look?”</p> + +<p>“You are certainly very bright,” I stammered, +striving valiantly after truth.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I look very nice, don’t I?” she went +on; “and I felt I ought to come round and +show you, because, as I tell everybody, it’s all +entirely due to <i>you</i>, ma’am, that I’m so stylish. +I shouldn’t never have <i>thought</i> to dress like this, +if you hadn’t taught me how. And now I’m +going round to show myself to Mrs. Griggles.”</p> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>XII<br /> + +<small>The Old Wood-House</small></h2> + + +<p class="unindent"><span class="smcap">The</span> old wood-house stands on the lee-side of a +belt of trees, part of the Squirrels’ Highway, as +we call it, that runs down one side of the Flower-patch, +sheltering it from the bleak north winds.</p> + +<p>Picture to yourself a building rather smaller +than a very small church, built of great blocks of +grey stone, with walls nearly two feet thick in +places, a red-tiled pointed roof, a door at one +end; and in case the walls should prove too +flimsy to stand the winter gales, huge stone +buttresses prop it up on the “off” side (i.e. the +side where the ground goes on running downhill), +lest the structure should take it into its +head to run down-hill too!</p> + +<p>In place of a spire, above the door, a weathercock +swings its arrow to the winds—at least, it +would swing it on any well-conducted apex, but +being merely mine it permanently points south. +Not that it is particular where it points; all it +asks is to be left in peace to close its eyes in +meditative contemplation of the landscape. We +occasionally get a ladder and then a long stick, +and move it round, trying to urge it to deeds of +derring-do, but it falls asleep the moment our +ministrations cease.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span></p> + +<p>The last time, it was a neighbouring farmer +who climbed the ladder to reason with it, after I +had assured him there was no penalty under +the Defence of the Realm Act for regulating +weathercocks. He was a bit reluctant to touch +it at first; as he said, what with clocks not being +allowed to tick as they pleased, and the time +being jiggered with anyhow, you didn’t know +where you was with nothing. But once I had +taken full responsibility for the affair, he went +up with right goodwill, and—forgetting that it +was the arrow alone that needed to move—he +gave a sturdy tug to the north, south, east, and +west arrangement, and sent the arms of that in +all directions.</p> + +<p>Then when we wanted to fix it up again, the +question arose, which was the north? A local +light supposed to know everything, who chanced +to be passing, was summoned for consultation. +After carefully surveying the various corners of +heaven, as though looking for enemy air-craft, he +said he didn’t know as he could say ezackly +which wur the north, unless he had summat to +tell him (we all felt like that, too!); but if we +would a-float a needle on the top of a basin of +water, then either the point of the needle—or—le’s +see? maybe ’twas the heye, he wasn’t quite +certain which—would point to the north, for +sure.</p> + +<p>Well, all hands rushed for basins and needles,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> +as you may suppose; because, whether it was +the point or the eye didn’t matter much, since +we knew the direction in which the north lay; +all we wanted was the precise angle. But alas, +every needle promptly sank to the bottom of the +basin, without so much as a kick!</p> + +<p>Eventually we refixed the north pole approximately, +pending such time as the Head of Affairs +should arrive, when I knew we could rely on the +small compass at the end of his watch chain. +But Virginia, who uses the weathercock more +than most of us, as she sees it from her bedroom +window, and says it is so useful to dress by, was +lugubriously certain his watch would be stolen +on the next journey down, and begged me to +place the arrow—still asleep—pointing south; +even an approximate south, she said, might at +least help to keep her spirits up, when a northeaster +was blowing.</p> + +<p>And south it remaineth unto this day, despite +all our blandishments, and probably will do so +till the end of the War, when the retirement of +the Food Controller—who, presumably, supervises +weathercocks—may permit of our using a +modicum of grease.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The old wood-house (which, by the way, was +originally used for coals, though no trace of this +is left upon its clean, lime-washed interior) is the +first building you run across as you enter by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> +top gate, which is the widest entrance we +possess. Here you step from the lane right into +a tiny larch plantation, and the path to the +cottage is arched over with the boughs of the +trees, while the brown cones crunch under your +boots, or roll away down the steep incline of the +path when your foot touches them. It was +among these trees that a small clearing was +made in the distant past to accommodate this +particular out-building; though why the coal-house +was considered the most artistic bit of +bric-à-brac to greet you as you enter the main +gate is not clear.</p> + +<p>The actual outline of the building is not +remarkable, being merely four walls and a +pointed roof, with a door and a window; but at +least it looks simple, dignified, and solid, and +what it lacks in architectural decoration has been +supplied by Nature herself. When we first saw +it, we called it the private chapel; but later on +I found Abigail & Co. calling it the picture +palace.</p> + +<p>At any rate, there it stands, shadowed by +great oaks seemingly immovable, with their +gnarled wide-stretching arms spread as in blessing +over the lowlier woodland things; a big +Spanish chestnut, though tardy in coming into +leaf, scatters worthless burrs around later on, +with generous goodwill; a walnut-tree invites +the passer-by to rub its aromatic leaves, and is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> +there any treasure-trove quite like the walnuts +that one finds in the long wet grass on a windy +autumn morning? Larches and firs make shady +colonnades, with their straight uprising shafts, +and dark drooping branches; silver birches, +always graceful, no matter how they may have +had to twist their trunks to accommodate themselves +to their environment, give lightness and +vivacity to the whole.</p> + +<p>Incense there is in abundance. The warm +resinous odour of the larches is always abroad; +mountain-ash-trees load the air with scent in +the late spring, and are ablaze with crimson in +August. Two or three lichen-covered, twisted +old apple-trees hang out bunches of pale-green +mistletoe, for all to see during the winter months, +and then surprise one with a bride-like flush of +white and pink in the spring. Where the sun is +brightest, a big hawthorn carpets the ground +with white petals in May.</p> + +<p>Then there are the lovely limes—and the +lime-tree is much more of a stately lady than is +realized by those who only know the sad, +maimed and distorted stumps that disfigure +suburban gardens in London. But see this lime-tree +that forms a link in the Squirrels’ Highway! +Its trunk measures about ten feet round. Under +the shadow of its drooping far-sweeping branches +you could give a small Sunday-school treat. +Though the lowest branches spring from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> +trunk at least nine feet from the ground, their +far ends touch the grass, forming a complete +tent of translucent green and gold as you look +upwards, through a multitude of layers of leaves, +to a sun you cannot see, but which seems to +have turned the whole tree into a rippling mass +of molten colour. And when it shakes out its +bunches of scented yellow blossoms, and trails +them by the thousand down each branch and +stem, then indeed the lime-tree is a lovely lady, +and the bees and the butterflies come from far +and near to pay her homage.</p> + +<p>And each tree has a special and distinct +winter-beauty of its own in the outline of +branches and stems and twigs—a beauty that is +lost to us once the leaves appear, but which +suggests an exquisite etching in winter when +the dark lines are silhouetted against the sky. +The most graceful is the birch, with its light +tracery of fine filaments, often with tassel-like +catkins dangling at the end. The oak and beech +give the impression of enormous strength in the +ease with which they fling outright their massive +arms with seldom any tendency to droop.</p> + +<p>And each tree has its special and distinct +melody when the wind signals the forest +orchestra; there is the sea-surge of the beeches, +the swish of the heavily plumed firs, the rain-sound +of the twinkling aspen, the soft whisper +of the birches, the æolian hum of the pines, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> +the sibilant rustle of the dead leaves still clinging +to the winter oak.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Outside the wood-house door there is a little +clearing adjoining the grove of trees, where a +perfect thicket of wild flowers smiles at you for +the greater part of the year. First come the +early violets clustering about the roots of the +trees, and in the shelter of the grey rock fragments; +while primroses dot the grass with their +crinkly leaves, and then send up pink stems +covered with silver sheen, and delicately scented +flowers each as big as a penny. Oxlips grow on +the bank that borders one side of the clearing.</p> + +<p>Later, it is an expanse of moon-daisies—thousands +of them swaying the whole day long +to the motion of the wind like the ever-restless +surface of the sea. And with the moon-daisies +are buttercups, crimson clover, rosy-purple knapweed, +spikes of pink orchis delicately pencilled +with mauve—all trying to grow to the height of +the big yellow-eyed daisies; while here and +there ruddy spears of sorrel out-top them all.</p> + +<p>Tall grasses of every kind are here, some like +a fine translucent veil of purple, others grey, or a +pinky-green; some shaking out yellow or heliotrope +stamens; some ever trembling like the +quaking-grass—but all mingling with the tall +flowers, softening the surface of the mass of +white blossoms that seem in the sunshine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> +almost too dazzling to look upon, were it not +for the mist of the grasses that envelops +them.</p> + +<p>Underneath the tall flowers there is a +wonderful carpet of lesser-growing things—masses +of trefoil, the yellow blossoms often +touched with fiery orange; patches of heath bed-straw, +with its myriads of tiny gleaming white +flowers, cling to any spot where the grasses leave +it room to breathe, its first cousin, the woodruff, +preferring a shadier part of the bank at the side—the +bank where the wild strawberries grow to +a luscious size, and whortleberry bushes add a +touch of wildness to the spot.</p> + +<p>The smaller clovers, both yellow and white, +seem to thrive under the bigger flowers, where +most else would suffocate. Pink-tipped daisies +bloom wherever they can find room to hold up a +little face. Rosy-pink vetches wander about at +pleasure, and pretend they are going to do great +things when they start to climb the stems of the +moon-daisies.</p> + +<p>Where the big fir trees throw a shadow, and +the sun only touches the grass when it is getting +round to the west, foxgloves send up shafts of +colour and the pale-blue spiked veronica carpets +the ground.</p> + +<p>Still further back, where the sunshine never +penetrates, even here something strives to give +beauty to barrenness and soften austerity, for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> +small-leaved ivy starts to climb the hard tree +trunks, undoubtedly one of the most beautiful of +the many living things that are neighbour to the +old wood-house.</p> + +<p>And always in the grass there lie the snapped-off +twigs and branches of the larches, with their +brown picots up stems that are studded with +exquisite cones. We strive hard to better +Nature, to make new designs, to evolve fresh +beauty; but with all our skill and experiments +we have yet to improve on the cone as a design, +with its rhythmic re-iteration of the one small +motif and the perfection of its proportions. In +my mind it ranks with the smoked-silver seed +ball of the dandelion, both of them examples of +absolute beauty derived from the simplest of +outlines.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The walls of the wood-house have their share +of green; on the north side an ivy, with a +gnarled main stem the size of a fair sized tree +trunk, sends evergreen branches over roof as +well as walls. Outside the door, which opens +to the south, stone-crop has planted itself in +masses among the stones, a perfect carpet of it, +that in June is a bright yellow. In the “good +old times,” before my day, the stone-crop served +as a convenient spot on which to dump the coal +sacks!</p> + +<p>On the western side where the ground drops<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> +down—a warm, snug and sheltered bank—in the +long grass white violets bloom by the thousand +in the early spring, their sweet little blossoms +streaked with mauve, nestling up to the old grey +walls with the trustfulness of little children. +Add to this long-fronded ferns growing out from +among the wall stones, and you have an idea of +the geography of the place.</p> + +<p>On a hot day the cool shade on the north +side is an ideal resting place; on a chilly day the +south side gives you a shield from the wind. +A pile of tree trunks and old logs lying outside +fairly ask you to sit for a moment and take in +some of the loveliness of the scene—you can +never exhaust the whole of it—and if you sit for +a minute you will probably sit there for hours.</p> + +<p>Here is absolute quiet of spirit, but never +silence. The trees are seldom still; all day and +all night the wind upon these hills sways the tall, +lithe tops of the larches to and fro, to and fro; +the leaves and the catkins of the birches are for +ever fluttering; the vibrant branches of the pines +hum and sing in the breezes, summer or winter; +the music of it all never ceases though it varies +in volume according to the season. On the +hottest summer days the grasses still sigh; the +bees hum all day long in the clover; the blue-tits +tweet and twitter as they swing about the +birches, and their cousins the coal-tits keep up +an endless run of comment in the larches. In<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> +May the nightingale comes into the grove to +sing; in June rival chaffinches perch on the top +spikes of certain spruce trees—always the same +bird on the same spike—and defy each other and +the world in general. The stock-dove croons +over its nest in the tallest firs, and the reddy-brown +squirrel scolds you severely if you are +coming too near his own particular chosen tree.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Inside the wood-house you may find many +things; some you are prepared for, some you +are not. In theory, it is sacred to the use of +the Head of Affairs, a sort of play-house and +workshop combined, wherein no handy man is +supposed to set foot, and no prying eyes are +supposed to discover that the owner is working +in a jersey, with no qualms over the absence of +waistcoat and stiff collar.</p> + +<p>But I often go in when I am anxious to be +alone and wanting many things that one cannot +put down in words. And knowing this, the +Head of Affairs doesn’t keep his best saws +there!—not the splendid big “Farmer’s Saw,” +with its doubly notched teeth, that run through +big fir trunks with amazing ease; nor the finer +tools that deal with the short snappy branches. +No, the saw that is left for such emergencies is +a nondescript article that has now a wavy—very +wavy—edge, and a few of its teeth doubled over; +a saw that seems as though you can never get it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> +well into the wood, and once you have got it in, +it can’t be got out again, much less be made to +move with soft purring motion.</p> + +<p>You see, I have individuality where sawing +is concerned, but it is useless to talk about it, for +I’ve come to the conclusion that whatever other +moral improvements a woman may manage to +effect in the man she marries, it is a lifework to +get him to a proper appreciation of her method +of goffering a saw!</p> + +<p>But I must beg you not to picture the wood-house +as the home of the miscellaneous collection +of nondescript oddments so indescribably dear to +every masculine heart. There is an outhouse +elsewhere that accommodates short lengths of +chain, pieces of wire netting, old locks, bits of +copper wire, staples and hooks, broken hinges +(that <i>might</i> be made do duty again, if any one +ever has a gate that prefers its hinges to be +broken), oil cans, a piece of lead pipe, various +lengths of iron rods, broom handles, stale putty, +old keys, a couple of invalided padlocks, and—well, +you know the type of things that every +self-respecting man likes to gather around him, +and keep handy, in case he might need them at +any moment.</p> + +<p>Unfortunately one of the many blighting +influences of town-life, for ever hindering the +full flowering of one’s better nature, is the lack +of the necessary space to stock such useful items.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> +But in the country one is not so hampered, and +one’s private marine store grows apace, and +differs only according to the temperament of the +collector. Indeed, I have come to the conclusion +that country air develops in man and +woman alike that tendency to hoard, which is so +noticeable in early childhood, when the small +girl collects buttons and clippings from her +mother’s sewing-room, and the small boy bulges +the blouse of his sailor suit with string and +“conquers” and coloured chalks, and old penknives +and young frogs.</p> + +<p>In town a woman’s only outlet, as a rule, is +the bargain counter or annual sale or remnant +day. These dissipations are denied us in the +country, but we make up for it in many other +directions. My own particular weakness is jam-jars, +and the way I pounce on any round pot, be +it glass or earthenware, that looks as though it +might be made to hold jelly or jam, is quite a +study in efficiency. And, like all expert collectors, +my collection has sub-divisions, or perhaps +you would call them ramifications; cups that +have lost their handles, jugs ditto, glasses that +once held a rolled tongue, or fish paste, are all +included; and friends, as they bring round a +portmanteau full of empty jars at Christmas or +on my birthday, say, “It is so nice in your case +that one knows what you actually want; so +much better to give anyone what they really<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> +like, and will use, rather than some useless bit of +jewellery.” And I quite agree.</p> + +<p>There was one moment when I feared my +jars would have to go in the general rending +asunder of domestic life caused by the War, +even though I had determined to stick to them +as long as I could. But when that “one clear +call” came for jam-pots, naturally I couldn’t be +a traitor to my country, and I decided the jars at +least must go, even though I might perhaps +retain the handleless cups and jugs. So I +told Abigail to let me know when the grocer +called.</p> + +<p>I interviewed the young lady wearing high +white kid boots and an amethyst pendant on her +bare chest, who brought my next large consignment +of groceries, that had to be bought in order +to secure a little sugar. But when she heard +that there were jam-jars to go back, she looked +at me coldly from the doorstep, and hurriedly +pushing her basket further up her arm (lest I +should attempt to force them into it, I presume), +the Abyssinian gold bracelets clanking the while, +haughtily informed me that her motor was for +delivery only, not for the cartage of empties, and +suggested that I should write the manager and +see if he would consent to receive them.</p> + +<p>I’m only human after all, and naturally any +woman’s temperature would rise in the face of +such spurning of her free-will offerings. I didn’t<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> +write, and I’m using the jam-jars still. The +nation doesn’t seem any the worse off—though +Virginia points out to me that the War <i>might</i> +have ended sooner had I insisted on handing +them over; she says every little helps, as is +proved by the fact that the very week she put +her first 15<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> into Exchequer Bonds the +Government got the first “tank.”</p> + +<p>At any rate, as I never eat preserves myself, I +can still, even with a restricted sugar allowance, +enjoy the peculiar pleasure that arises within a +woman’s soul when she is occasionally able to +say, quite casually as it were, to a friend: +“Would you care to have a pot of my new +gooseberry and cinnamon jam? They say it’s +rather good, though of course—etc.” And the +friend replies: “Oh, I should <i>love</i> it, dear; <i>such</i> +a treat; that jar of ginger marmalade I took +home last time was positively <i>delicious</i>. Everyone +said—etc.”</p> + +<p>One favourite item for collection among the +cottagers is old bottles, and the stock you will +see in some of their outhouses is often most +extensive and varied. On one occasion an old +man who was doing some odd days’ work for me +about the garden, in the absence of the handyman, +was deploring the way the rabbits devastated +the cabbages.</p> + +<p>“I’ll get rid on ’em for ’ee if you’ll leave +’em to me!” he assured me. I said I only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> +wished he would, as they are a real plague at +times.</p> + +<p>Imagine my horror a few days later when I +took some friends along to see the vegetables, to +discover a legion of empty whisky bottles, +labels intact, neck downwards in the soil, and +dotted about the vegetable garden in all directions. +The old man explained that they were +put there to skeer they rabbits, as they was +dreadful frit of bottles! But my friends refused +to believe that so honest-looking an old Amos +could have brought them with him!</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The inside of the wood-house is as aloof as +are the hills from our machinery-driven, smoke-begrimed, +petrol-flavoured twentieth century. +Even when work is in progress, here is no +hustle; there are no short cuts to the other side +of a larch log; the saw must go steadily, +patiently, almost slowly, if it hopes to get +through the tree at one standing.</p> + +<p>To step from the hot noonday glare, on a +summer day, into the cool seclusion of these +thick stone walls, is to enter a haven of peace +and quiet that would seem to belong to the +forest primeval rather than to this noise-stricken +age.</p> + +<p>The window opening to the north excludes +the fierce sun, but the yellow-washed walls give +light and cheeriness. And the ivy, that ubiquitous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> +plant that scorns all disadvantages, and +overcomes every obstacle, has crept in under +the red tiles and hangs in festoons from the dark +rafters; while in other places its pale green +shoots have found for themselves a way clean +through the thickness of the wall, pushing along +crevices and around the stones, till at last they +have come to light on the inner side, where they +immediately proceed to drape lopped trunks and +big branches standing in the corner.</p> + +<p>It is no mere accumulation of timber and +sticks that is housed within these rough old +walls. The very spirit of the forest seems to +permeate the place; everything is part and +parcel of the big outside—the stones that pave +the floor; the heap of cones in one corner, +waiting to brighten up smouldering winter fires +and set them all aglow; the solid sections of +some sturdy oak, cut to just the right height +for seats; the bark stripped from a birch-tree, +silver white even now, with grey and pinkish +paper-like peelings and black breathing marks; +and the great brown branches of larch, a tracery +of studded twigs and stems and cones, that have +been placed across the end of the wood-house, +and sweep the rafters at the top, looking, as you +enter the door, like some wonderful rood-screen, +dark brown with age, shutting off an ancient, +yellow-washed chancel—though such a screen +no mortal hand could ever carve!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span></p> + +<p>The larch is always in evidence, and gives a +resinous odour to the place, as does the sawdust +by the bench, a rich brown pile, for very little of +our hillside wood is white; most of it ranges +from reddish-brown to mahogany colour. +Though here is a small creamy-white gate in +course of construction—merely a little wicket +to keep the calves out of the orchard—that is +made of straight, round branches, slit down the +centre, so that one side of each is flat and the +other semicircular. The design is simplicity +itself, some uprights with a few cross-pieces to +hold them together and suggest a trellis; yet +the rich cream colour and the satiny surface of +the wood make it a thing of distinct beauty. +This is only a branch of the lime-tree, with the +bark peeled off.</p> + +<p>In an ordinary way we seldom have a chance +to notice the intrinsic beauty of wood itself. Of +course we see it in its polished perfection when +it comes to us in some choice piece of furniture, +or panelling; but this is not exactly the beauty +to which I refer. Each branch, each tree trunk, +has, in its unpolished state, definite characteristics +of its own, quite distinct from those we see +in the finished product civilization regards as the +one end to be aimed for. These characteristics +may be rough, and are frequently rugged; but +their appeal is often all the stronger for this +fact.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span></p> + +<p>Look at the wonderful ribbing on the rind of +this Spanish chestnut; what is it that wakes up +in you when you study its lines and formation? +You cannot say, yet you respond to it in an +indefinable manner. These branches of apple-wood, +only gnarled old things, twisted and +crooked and all out of shape some people would +say; yet you know that they would not have +been nearly so lovely had they been straight as +a dart. The larches with their strong bark +showing grey and red and green, and furrowed +like the sea sand—isn’t there something in this +that calls to you from back recesses of your +being, and reminds you of the time when you—no, +not you, but your ancestors, centuries ago, +lived not so much in cities and houses made +with hands, as out of doors, finding mystery in +the green-roofed aisles and the cathedral dimness +of forests long since felled?</p> + +<p>To those of us who spend much time among +these hills, each tree within the wood-house +comes as a friend, with a definite personality and +distinct association, and we regret its individual +“going out,” even though we know it to be +inevitable.</p> + +<p>This giant, that leans against the outside +wall, with no possibility of ever getting inside +the door until it has been sawn in half, is a big +fir (where a squirrel nested) that heeled right +over in a blizzard. Here is the tall cherry-tree<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> +that died of a hollow heart, so beloved of the +birds that they left us never a one if we got up +later than half-past four the morning the +cherries were ripe. This is the bough from the +big plum-tree that broke down last August +under its weight of fruit. These branches of +old apple-trees are some of the winter wreckage +that was strewn about the orchards; see the +lichen that covers them, could anything be +more satisfying to look upon? And these are +some of the birches that seemed so frail as they +bent to the wind on the slopes, with purple +twigs and green leaves always moving; until +you have actually handled them you scarcely +realize the strength and toughness of the delicate-looking +bark, and you henceforth take a much +more personal interest in Hiawatha and his +canoe, even though his tree was another member +of the family. And that convenient stump you +are sitting upon is part of a hoary pear, that +used annually to clothe itself in white—and then +contribute more gallons of perry than it does to +think of in these more sober days!</p> + +<p>But no mere catalogue of contents can +describe the charm of this little wind-swept +place. To realise it you must first of all stand +in need of quiet and retreat. When the craving +comes upon you that impels us all, at one time +or another, to get away from “things” and be +alone with ourselves and Nature that we may<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> +re-discover our souls, take a book if you will +(it matters not what, for you won’t read it, but +to some it is essential that a book be in the hand +if they are to sit still for a moment!) and climb +the hill to that wood-house.</p> + +<p>Take a seat on the beech log by the door, +and let yourself absorb some of the spirit of your +environment. Keep quite still when the squirrel +trails his bushy tail down the path, he won’t +inquire after your National Registration card; +neither will the pheasant, even though he raises +his head with a suspicious jerk as he is feeding +among the grass. Little rabbits will dart in and +out of their burrows among the bracken; the +woodpecker will mock at you from a tree that +waves above the roof; a robin will streak down +from nowhere, like a flash, and stand as erect as +a drill-sergeant on the corner of the work-bench +while he inquires—but, there is an interruption; +he excuses himself for a moment while he goes +off to thrash his wife who ventured to peep in at +the window. Let them all have their way, they +are as much a part of the general atmosphere +of the place as the sweet scent of the evening +dew upon the grass, and the ceaseless soughing +of the wind in the branches; moreover, this is +home to them.</p> + +<p>The little folk of the forests are so companionable +when you know them; even the same +butterflies will come again and again. I recently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> +spent two hours a day for a fortnight in this +spot, and all the time apparently the same +butterfly hovered about the door, resting every +few minutes on the warm rock among the stone-crop +and fiercely chasing off any other butterfly +that came within its evidently marked-out +domain. And the little folk never bore you +with their boastings, nor weary you with platitudes. +They are content to let you think your +own thoughts, to take you as you are, if you +will but recollect that theirs are ancient privileges +that have descended to them as a world-old +heritage. It is you who, helpless in the grip +of civilisation, sold your forest “hearth-rights” +long since, and are now but a stranger, or at +best a passing guest, in this out-door world that +was man’s first home.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Gradually quiet possesses you, and you hear +the trees talking of things that have far outstripped +the clash and turmoil of modernity. What is +it they say, those swaying boughs and branches +that throb with every wind, and these that stand +around you, silently, waiting their last service +to man, each with some final sacrificial offering—the +apple-wood giving in incense, the oak giving +in strength, and the laurel giving in flame?</p> + +<p>Theirs is a blessing rather than a message; +a lifting of a load from the over-burdened heart +rather than the teaching of stern lessons. And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> +as you shake off some of the dust of earth that +has clogged your soul, you find yourself sending +out thoughts in directions long forgotten; the +things of earth take on new proportions, the +first being often last, and the last becoming first.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The ministry of the forest trees can never +be entirely explained; but one remembers with +reverence that our Lord Himself worked in +some such little wood-house, where He touched +the trees and fashioned the timber with His +sacred Hands.</p> + +<p>Haply He left His Benediction when He +passed that way.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>XIII<br /> + +<small>Abigail’s “Lonely +Sailor”</small></h2> + + +<p class="unindent"><span class="smcap">I’m</span> sure I didn’t start my career of usefulness +with any intention of adopting a “lonely sailor.” +It was Abigail who bestowed him upon me.</p> + +<p>So far as I remember, it was something like +this.</p> + +<p>Abigail had joined “The Domestic Helpers’ +Branch” of a Guild, organised by some well-meaning +souls, for the purpose of befriending +those men in the Army and Navy who are +supposed to be without feminine kith or kin +of any description to take an interest in them.</p> + +<p>She had been lured to a Guild meeting by +her friend Pamela.</p> + +<p>Pamela, it should be explained, was my +parlour-maid, originally, but when the national +trumpet sounded for the reduction of one’s staff +of employees, she had moved a little further +along the road, to “The Gables,” a household +that fancied they needed a parlour-maid worse +than I did.</p> + +<p>We were mutually quite satisfied with the +transference; she had recently had a sister enter +the service of a ducal family, and I had found<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> +the effort necessary to keep pace with the +duchess exceedingly wearing. Kind hearts may +be more than coronets, but they don’t always +show to such advantage, since one has to wear +them inside.</p> + +<p>As we had parted with no recriminations on +either side, naturally I begged Pamela to make +my house “a home away from home” whenever +she pleased, which she accordingly did; and it +was on one of her many “runs in” that she had +expatiated on the Guild in question, and induced +Abigail to sample it.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>And thus, Abigail had returned from the +meeting moved to the very core of her kind +heart by the harrowing details the speaker had +related of fine, daring, courageous, and magnificent +specimens of British and Colonial manhood, +left desolate and uncared for, pining for a word +of sympathy and understanding from someone +in the home-land—a word that never came, alas!</p> + +<p>Abigail said it had quite put her off her +supper that night, thinking of all those brave +men, defending us and our homes right up to +their very last breath—and yet, never a woman +to get them a clean pair of socks or a hot meal +when all was over; not a letter of sympathy, +nor a card with a line on it (here cook told her +that funeral cards had quite gone out), not so +much as a word of encouragement from any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> +relative under the sun, every woman at home +selfishly engaged with her own concerns—— Why, +it was a disgrace to the country that our +heroes should be neglected and put upon by the +women of the land in any such way! And +please would I mind her sending off a cake as +soon as possible? as of course she had adopted a +lonely sailor, wouldn’t have it on her conscience +not to; and cook was quite willing to make it, +there was plenty of dripping, and we still had a +fair amount of carraway seeds left, and they +wouldn’t come as expensive as currants—cook’s +cousins at the Crystal Palace liked carraways +<i>quite</i> as well as currants if plenty of spice and +peel was put in. The fried potatoes had nearly +<i>choked</i> her, when she was telling cook about it +all . . . no, not because she was talking with her +mouth full; she meant that the very thought of +those poor lonely men was like eating sawdust. +The speaker at the meeting had said he was sure +each one present had only to ask her employer, +and permission would be given immediately and +gladly for a cake or potted meat or some other +little delicacy to be sent once a week, as a sign +of sympathy and understanding, to one of these +grand yet lonely souls.</p> + +<p>Of course I immediately and gladly gave +permission for the concrete sympathy to be sent +once a week, but stipulated that it was to be a +cake; five shillings’ worth of meat, as per my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> +butcher’s charges, goes positively nowhere when +“potted.” I reckoned that a good dripping +cake would give the desolate one a deal more +sympathy for the money.</p> + +<p>(At the same time, to keep our rations +properly balanced I cut off the small plate of +spice buns, our only cake luxury, which had been +in the habit of adorning our Sunday afternoon +tea-table.)</p> + +<p>And oh! the care with which we sewed up +that first box of sympathy in a remnant of cretonne, +carefully putting it on wrong side out (to +preserve its beauty), and hoping that when he +undid it he would notice what a charming pattern +of purple dahlias and blue roses was on the +inside, and how the cretonne was just a nice size +to make up into a boot bag if he chanced to be +needing a new one.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>I pass over the next few weeks while we +waited anxiously for the “lonely sailor” to +materialise. He was engaged on board H.M.S. +“The North Sea,” and sailors, we know, are +subject to wind and weather. Abigail said she +almost wished now that she had selected a lonely +soldier; she could have had one if she had liked; +but she had chosen a sailor because she thought +he might wear better. The German sailors didn’t +seem so pigheadedly bent on fighting as the +German soldiers were.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span></p> + +<p>We did our best to keep the time from +hanging idly on our hands by devising as much +variety as possible for future menus, discussing +the respective merits of cinnamon <i>versus</i> cocoanut +as a flavouring, and wondering whether after all we +shouldn’t be more likely to buck up his desolate +spirits (and more particularly his pen) if we sent +a sultana cake next week, rather than gingerbread.</p> + +<p>I never before knew Abigail so prompt in +her attendance upon the postman’s knock as she +was during those blank weeks that accompanied +the first half-dozen cakes. And then, when she +was in a very slough of dark despondency, and +constantly wondering who <i>had</i> eaten them, since +they had evidently never reached <i>him</i>, a letter +arrived, and forthwith Abigail trod upon air—figuratively, +I mean, not literally; in reality I +never heard her so noisy; she went up and down, +up and down the stairs past my study door where +I was working, as though she had lost a step +and was looking for it! Finally, when I heard her +singing “Days and moments quickly flying” as +she O-cedar-mopped some neighbouring polished +boards, I knew something must have happened, +and I opened the door and asked if anything +was the matter? Whereupon she produced the +letter from the bib of her apron—would have +brought it before, only knew I liked everything +to be perfectly quiet when I was working—and +didn’t I think it was a lovely letter?</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span></p> + +<p>Though the handwriting wasn’t much to +boast of, and the spelling even worse, it was a +straightforward, man-like letter; he was evidently +very pleased to have the cakes, and quite +touched that the young lady should have been +so kind as to think of him. He said his people +were too far off to send him anything like that: +his father and mother had gone out to Canada +when he was ten years old. No one had sent +him a <i>parcel</i> so far, therefore it was quite a +surprise packet when the first one came. It was +kind of her to ask if he would like some more; +all he could say was—“the more the merrier,” +if the young lady felt like it.</p> + +<p>And he signed himself, her faithful friend, +Dick.</p> + +<p>After that Dick’s name became so all-insistent +in our midst that the whole household appeared +to exist solely for the purpose of revolving round +him. So constantly was it wafted on the four +winds of heaven, that I remarked to the Head +of Affairs: it seemed for all the world as though +we had adopted a pet canary, and were everlastingly +wondering if his seed glass had been +replenished.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>There was only one slight shadow falling +athwart the sunshine. Pamela (who was a +great authority on “How to tell your character +by your handwriting,” having had her own<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> +delineated by her favourite penny weekly) had +declared that Dick was anæmic and delicate; +she knew, because his handwriting sloped downwards—a +sure sign; it was also cramped and +irregular, an unfailing indication of a mean and +grasping nature; while the heavy downstrokes +and the absence of punctuation proved as plain +as plain could be that he was unreliable.</p> + +<p>Poor Pamela had had her own disappointments +in life, and had been warped a little +thereby.</p> + +<p>Of course Abigail said she did not believe a +word of such rubbish, and she rather liked the +funny-shaped letters, and thought the black +strokes looked particularly strong and healthy.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, it was surprising how that +trifle of seed, carelessly dropped, took root in +our minds, and how from that date onwards +we all regarded Dick as anæmic and in need of +strenuous nourishment; while if more than a +month elapsed between his communications, we +couldn’t help just wondering whether, after all, +he might not be a <i>little</i> mean and grasping, and +six weeks demonstrated with absolute certainty +that he was unreliable!</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>A month after we received his first letter, +there came another, and of course we all fluttered +with excitement.</p> + +<p>Dick still approved of the cakes, I was glad<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> +to hear; and since the young lady had asked if +there was anything else she could send, he wasn’t +one to cadge for himself, but there was his mate +Mick; he wanted to put in a word for him. +Mick, it appeared, was even more lonely, more +ignored by the world of women, more in need of +sympathetic understanding than he was; and—what +was more to the point—was badly in want +of a large scarf. Not that Mick would have +asked for it himself, very independent Mick was; +but since he had so enjoyed half of every cake, +and the nights were very cold this time of the +year, and he had been his pal for years, why, he +felt sure the young lady wouldn’t mind his just +mentioning it, as he couldn’t think of telling +her how short he was of socks himself.</p> + +<p><i>Mind!</i> Why, we all regarded Dick as a +public benefactor! Abigail discovered that Dick +and Mick rhymed, and as she said, you didn’t +have poetry like that brought to the door <i>every</i> +day! She suddenly developed the airs of a +society belle; she borrowed my copy of “The +Modern Knitting Book;” and, might she just +run out for an hour in the afternoon to get some +wool—you needed thicker wool for scarves than +for socks—as the shops were so dark at night?</p> + +<p>Cook, with her numerous cousins on H.M.S. +“Crystal Palace” (a near neighbour of ours), +was given to understand that she could now +take a second place! There was no getting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> +away from the fact that Mr. Dick and Mr. Mick +were actually engaged in the defence of the +realm, while cook’s cousins appeared to do +nothing more than take joy-rides in motor-lorries +to and fro along our road.</p> + +<p>Pamela alone was sceptical; she said she +should go cautiously, you never knew! But +then, she had every reason to be a pessimist; +even her “lonely soldier” had been sent out to +China, and, naturally, you can’t sympathise so +understandingly with anyone when it takes a +couple of months before you get an answer to +your letter (if even he should chance to write by +return), as when he is only across the Straits of +Dover. She said she got tired of keeping copies +of her letters, so that she might know what he +was talking about when he wrote back—only he +never did!</p> + +<p>Surmising that Abigail would have her +hand over-full if she took on the wants of both +men, I said to her, “I think <i>I</i> had better adopt +Mr. Mick, as I am sure you will have enough +to do to provide et-ceteras for Mr. Dick! You +can take all the credit for it, and write the +letters, but I will settle the bills.”</p> + +<p>And having some socks and a large muffler +all ready for dispatch to some needy man, I +gave them to her and said I would pay the +postage, if she would save me the trouble of +doing them up and taking them to the post<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span> +office. I also added that a cake had better be +sent once a week to Mr. Mick in addition to the +one sent to Mr. Dick. I know something of +the appetite of the Navy—and what is one +simple cake between two hearty men!</p> + +<p>Abigail was effusively grateful, took it quite +as a personal favour; you might have thought I +was settling an annuity on her own father! She +explained that naturally she felt more interest in +Dick, and was more anxious to spend her money +on him; at the same time, she should certainly +mention my name to Mr. Mick; it wouldn’t be +fair to take all the credit to herself.</p> + +<p>So we left it at that.</p> + +<p>I consulted with cook on the subject of +securing ample and pleasing variety, combined +with unquestionable nourishment; and judging +by the amount of information she was able to give +me as to what “they” like, you would have thought +she had reared a whole family of husbands!</p> + +<p>Forthwith, the house was steeped in a perpetual +aroma of baking cakes (of course the +cousins couldn’t be neglected either), till I got +nervous lest the Food Controller should make it +his business to call. Upstairs we not only went +cakeless, but in order to make sugar-ends meet, +we drank unsweetened tea and coffee, a trial to +all of us! And stewed fruit requiring sugar was +also taboo.</p> + +<p>On second consideration, I am inclined to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> +think that it was not, first and foremost, my +benevolence that led me to adopt Mick: it was +primarily a matter of self-interest! Even in war +time it is necessary to have a <i>little</i> work done, if +only occasionally, in the home; and if the household +helpers were to take on yet another outside +responsibility, in addition to the many already +on their hands, I didn’t see where my work +would come in at all—and I can’t do <i>everything</i> +in the evening, after I get home from town. +As it was, we were already knitting morning, +noon, and night, for every branch of the Services!</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>I put the collection of figures and capital +letters that represented Mick’s address, into my +pocket-book with other similar data. Periodically +I handed Abigail pairs of socks or mittens, a +body-belt, handkerchiefs, and similar utilities; +and when any sea-going event, such as a raid on +a submarine base, or a “scrap” in the North +Sea, or a warship mined, brought the Navy +specially to my mind, I would go into the Stores +and order a parcel to be sent to Mick, adding +one for Dick also, if the occasion happened to +be a harrowing one. At such times one feels +one cannot do enough for our men; and Dick +and Mick little knew how often they benefited +by the misfortunes of others.</p> + +<p>The first time I received a letter from my +devoted friend Michael McBlaggan, I admit I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> +was a trifle bewildered, as I couldn’t for the +moment “place” any member of the McBlaggan +family; but when I read the document through +and noted how kind he considered it that my +friend Miss Abigail should have introduced us, +light dawned, and I sent him a post-card saying +I hoped he would always let me know if he +wanted anything further in the way of woollens.</p> + +<p>And thus the months wore on, punctuated +by laboriously written communications from +Dick, with an occasional card from Mick, who +kept more in the background. The great attraction, +undoubtedly, was Dick. He entered into +personal details, asked if the young lady had +made the cakes herself. Here I understand cook +was not too absorbed in her own relations to +insist that full credit should be given to the right +person; and Abigail wrote explaining that as +she was very much occupied, and too busy to +attend to the cooking, a friend who lived with +her always made the cakes. Whereupon by +return post <i>I</i> received a sloping, heavy-downstroked +letter of thanks from the dutiful Dick!</p> + +<p>On another occasion, Dick sent his photo +(after being asked for it times out of number, I +believe). It was not as satisfactory as it might +have been, because it was an amateur snapshot +group, and you know how easy it is to decipher +the features when the hand camera has stood a +quarter of a mile away (so as to include as much<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> +of the landscape as possible), and everyone’s +face is in black shadow under a hat brim that +has been tilted forward to exclude the full glare +of the sun.</p> + +<p>Unfortunately he omitted to put a <b>X</b> against +himself, and as there were a dozen men in the +group all in slouch hats and farm attire (to say +nothing of the women and children), there was +little to help us!</p> + +<p>But he did say that, as Abigail had told him +Canada was the one place above all others that +she longed to see, and how she was hoping to +go there as soon as the war was over, he had +sent his picture taken on a Canadian farm. It +was just a little gathering photographed on +someone’s birthday.</p> + +<p>Still, as he hadn’t given us any help in the +matter, we had to decide ourselves which was +the lonely sailor (though, as Abigail commented, +she couldn’t understand how, with such a large +collection of friends, he could ever have come +to be so alone in the world). We picked out +a thin, anæmic-looking young man, who was +standing beside a comfortable, matronly woman +in a shady hat and a big apron; and as her age +might have been anything from thirty to sixty, +we decided she was his mother, and I remarked +what a nice homely soul she looked in her +checked apron, and no wonder he was devoted +to her, and how proud she must be of the dear<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> +lad—all of which Abigail accepted as a personal +compliment.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Winter gave way to spring, and in like +rotation mince pies were superseded by Swiss +roll (to make which eggs were struck off our +breakfast menu), and marmalade replaced the figs +and dates in the parcels that went out to some +unknown spot on the world’s ocean-spaces, all of +which our wonderful Navy now controls.</p> + +<p>Likewise, cretonne gave place to unbleached +calico, my remnants being exhausted.</p> + +<p>Existence downstairs fluctuated between +heights of excitement and depths of gloom. The +Crystal Palace authorities had a most unreasonable +way of shipping men off to Mesopotamia, +Salonika, Hongkong, Archangel, or anywhere +else where they thought the air would prove +salubrious, without a single word of inquiry as to +whether the transfer met with cook’s approval. +Hence, there was a series of constantly recurring +blanks to mar what would otherwise have been +a life of unsullied joyousness; and at such times +of depression cook darkly hinted that punching +tram tickets and ordering people to “move up a +little on that side, please,” would be a deliriously +exhilarating occupation compared with the +monotony of cake-making for nobody-knows-who!</p> + +<p>As every gift-giver is aware, there is invariably<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> +a grey hiatus between the sending off of +the gift and the arrival of the recipient’s gratitude; +hence, the bustle and excitement of getting +off each parcel of eatables and pair of socks and +tin of tobacco was always followed by a spell +of wistful longing, while the postal authorities, +out of sheer perversity (we presumed), held back +the letter that would have meant so much to +Abigail.</p> + +<p>Moreover, Pamela was doing anything but +contribute to the gaiety of nations! She was +often in with Abigail on her spare evenings; +and seemed to devote the time to perpetual +croaks, on one occasion ending with the assurance +that, for <i>her</i> part, she should have nothing +to do with a man who was merely a common +sailor; self-respect, if nothing else, would make +her look for something better than that.</p> + +<p>I am glad to say Abigail had sufficient spirit +left to retort that if he was good enough to +fight for her, he was good enough for the +bestowal of a cake. Nevertheless, a decided coolness +sprang up between them; and for a week +or two after this exchange of confidences, +Abigail appeared to be sinking in a rapid +“decline” (as they used to call it), and I felt +I was positively inhuman to expect her to do a +hand’s turn in the house.</p> + +<p>Yet life was not entirely bereft of purple +patches. The gloom consequent upon the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> +Silence of the Navy lifted occasionally. As, for +instance, when we had a bomb drop in our road. +Yes, in our very road!—or, at any rate, it was +only just round the corner; and, as everybody +knows, one affectionately appropriates as one’s +own all neighbouring roads (quite irrespective of +the rentals, too) if they chance to possess a +bomb. And, in any case, it <i>would</i> have dropped +in our road if only it had been a hundred yards +nearer this way.</p> + +<p>Ours was quite an up-to-date bomb, one of +the sort that “went clean through the wood +pavement to the depth of a couple of feet, and +made a hole large enough to bury a man in, and +not a sound window within a mile radius.” +That’s the kind of bomb <i>ours</i> was! And it was +trimmed in the latest fashion, with a policeman, +and a cord right round it, and two gentlemen +with pickaxes who scratched the surface of the +wood blocks occasionally in the intervals of +looking important. They were wearing them +like that in London at the time.</p> + +<p>Of course we, in common with the whole +parish, swelled with pride; for a while all social +distinction was waived, rich and poor alike took +the same interest in the bomb, or at least in the +hole it had made; the bomb itself was removed +so quickly that no local eye save that of the +police and the pickaxe gentlemen ever saw it; +though the milkman averred that, as he was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> +driving to the station in the early dawn, he saw +a van going in the opposite direction; he +couldn’t see what was in it, hence it certainly +was carrying away the bomb.</p> + +<p>For the rest of us, however, we had to be +content with a brave effort to get as near to the +cord as we could, and crane our heads above our +shorter brethren in order to catch a glimpse of +the gaping void, while a thrill went down every +spine, irrespective of bank balances.</p> + +<p>And we might have remained in that splendidly +democratic frame of back unto this day +(no one being anxious to have any closer acquaintance +than his neighbour with the bomb), +had it not been that a piece of shrapnel was +discovered in the garden next us. Whereupon +the owner developed much upliftedness, and his +servants bragged amain.</p> + +<p>My own staff took it even more to heart +than I did; and it was amazing how much time +it was necessary for all hands to spend in the +garden in order to cut a cabbage or gather three +sprigs of parsley. Between them they didn’t +leave an inch of the garden unexplored, and it is +a fair-sized one.</p> + +<p>Then the following morning Abigail rushed +in excitedly with the news that she had discovered +a piece of shrapnel in the bonfire débris. +I went down to inspect, and was shown an +oblong piece of curved iron, wider at one end<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> +than the other, and with a sharp spike at the +wider end. I confess that to me it was wonderfully +reminiscent of the old trowel that had lost +its wooden handle and had lain unhonoured and +unsung for a year in the leaf-heap; but I said +nothing about <i>that</i>. Whatever its origin, it was +crumpled up a bit with heat, one could see—not +surprising either, as we had had a roaring +bonfire two days running and burnt up all the +pile of dead leaves.</p> + +<p>When I was devising plans for its removal, +they said, Hadn’t it better wait there till the +master came home?</p> + +<p>But the Head of Affairs is celebrated for his +truthfulness; and he and that old trowel had +lived on terms of unalloyed friendship for years +(till the split came over the handle), and—well, +I merely said I thought we would deal with it +at once; no need to add to the master’s many +worries.</p> + +<p>Cook said: Oughtn’t it to be immersed in +a pail of water? Her cousin at the Crystal +Palace had told her that——, etc.</p> + +<p>So we got a pail of water; I bade them +stand well out of harm’s way, while I put it in. +Of course they feebly offered to do it for me, +but seemed relieved when I insisted on taking +all risks; one ran to one side of the garden and +one to the other, and then decided they should +feel safer if they both stood close together.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span></p> + +<p>Just as I was about to pick it up, cook +shrieked out to me not to touch it with my +hands, as it might be poisoned. I said I would +take it up with a pair of tongs; but she said she +thought it ought to be insulated with china. It +might be electrified with the shock; you never +knew what inventions those fiends were up to, +and one of her cousins who was in the electricians’ +corp (or something like that) had told her +that——, etc.</p> + +<p>So we compromised with a large china soup +ladle and a big wooden spoon, which I used like +chop sticks, and at last got the shrapnel into the +water. Of course it was disappointing when it +dropped heavily to the bottom without so much +as a sizzle, much less a bang. Still—we had the +comfortable feeling that we were on the safe +side now.</p> + +<p>Eventually I had it in my study. I said it +would be safer there. But though the neighbourhood +was thus debarred from seeing and +handling it, the fame of it spread with amazing +rapidity; and the lady across the road arrived +quite early in the afternoon, having heard from +her housemaid, who had heard it from her +gardener, who had heard it from the road-sweeper, +who had heard it from the grocer’s +man, who had heard it from my cook, that I +had a huge shell weighing half-a-hundredweight, +covered with venomous spikes, all deadly poison,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> +that had dropped down the chimney right into +the centre of the kitchen fire, where it had been +found, still hissing, when they went to rake out +the ashes in the morning.</p> + +<p>I didn’t display the fragment to my neighbour, +nor to subsequent callers; it is such a pity +to rob people of happiness. I merely said I +thought it better to keep it well away from all +vibration, as so far it hadn’t exploded. And +one and all assured me I was very wise, and +remembered pressing engagements elsewhere.</p> + +<p>I reached the zenith of my fame when a +police inspector, accompanied by a subordinate, +rang the front door bell, and understood that I +had in my possession a portion of a Zeppelin +that had foundered on my lawn. It appeared +that he had been up all night, and had worn +out miles of shoe leather, hunting for the missing +half of that Zeppelin; and had I the gondola as +well? He seemed to suspect that I might be +holding that back in order to have it stuffed and +put under a glass shade in the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>He looked disappointed when I showed him +the fragment of iron; said they had plenty of +bits that size; but he admitted that none of +them had a spike like that at one end, and +darkly hinted that it might be just the missing +link they were looking for. Then he and the +subordinate tenderly carried it away between +them.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span></p> + +<p>We all intend to visit the War Museum +later on. Personally, I’m very keen to see what +they ticket it.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Nevertheless, when each little excitement +subsided, reaction set in, and Abigail’s spirits +promptly dropped to zero. But at length a +post card arrived in time to save her (and us) +from utter collapse, and the bath-taps were +once more polished to the tune of “Days and +moments quickly flying.”</p> + +<p>Thus, as I have already stated, winter +merged into spring; and then spring made way +for early summer (as I’ve known it do before), +and we racked our brains to find a suitable +substitute for pork pie.</p> + +<p>Oh, yes, we had departed months ago from +the “nothing but cake” rule. We decided that +a thin, anæmic-looking young man (as per the +photographic group) needed still more feeding +up, and there wasn’t a sufficiency of body-building +material in modern cake, as everyone +knows who has sampled war-flour, even with +currants <i>as well</i> as carraways. So the Head of +Affairs and I stoically relinquished the one thin +slice of breakfast bacon that we had shared +between us each morning, and devoted the proceeds +to pork pies for the Navy—in accordance +with the highest ideals of the Food Controller.</p> + +<p>But, as every good housewife knows, you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> +mustn’t feed your family—let alone your friends—on +pork pie when there isn’t an R in the +month; and with April nearing its end, and +May looming, what was to take its place? As +cook said, you are so dreadfully handicapped +when you have to sew up your parcel in calico; +you can’t send soused mackerel, or Welsh rabbit +with Red Tape tied round you like that!</p> + +<p>Abigail suggested potted shrimps; but cook +scornfully reminded her that seafaring men, +living in the midst of shrimps and salt fish all +their days, weren’t likely to hanker after it +at meal times. We compromised on savoury +cheese patties—a come-down after the pork pie, +we admitted; only we could think of nothing +else equally nutritive and seasonable.</p> + +<p>Unfortunately, when I ordered extra cheese +to be sent weekly to meet the naval demands +(and up to that time I hadn’t seen any rules +for rationing cheese), the Stores “greatly regretted,” +etc., but there was a scarcity at the +moment; they could let me have a tin of +golden syrup, however, or, they had a fair stock +of candles.</p> + +<p>So we removed cheese from our upstairs +dietary, consoling ourselves with the thought +that, at best, it was only half a course.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile it was pleasant to know that the +fleet had voted the cheese patties “A 1,” due, so +cook said, to the fact that she had told Dick to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> +put the patties into a <i>slow</i> oven for ten or twelve +minutes before eating, as “it made all the +difference.”</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>I was beginning to get nervy with the strain +of it all. You see, if a letter delayed in coming, +then the question arose: Did they like the last +parcel? or, had we sent, by chance, something +they didn’t care for? And then my household +assistants looked darkly at me; <i>I</i> was to blame +for ever having suggested lemon curd tartlets. +As Abigail said, probably lemon didn’t agree +with Dick, it didn’t always with thin people.</p> + +<p>Cook acquiesced, adding that you never can +tell! There was her eldest sister’s husband, a +perfect terror for temper; yet look what he +saved her in doctor’s bills—he might have had +epileptic fits instead!</p> + +<p>On the other hand, there was her uncle (no +relation to her really, only her aunt’s husband, +and second husband at that), do what you would, +you couldn’t rouse him to take an interest in his +food or anything else. Her poor aunt had spent +a little fortune on medicine; and as bright a +house as you could want, not shut off with a +whole lot of garden like my house, but nice and +close on to the pavement, with heaps of traffic +going by. And exactly opposite, the broken +railings that the motor-van ran into and killed +the driver; heaps of people came to look at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> +place Sunday afternoons. But her uncle never +took a bit of notice of it.</p> + +<p>No, you <i>never</i> can tell!</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>All the same, I felt guilty, and began to +wonder how long I should be able to hold out! +And then——</p> + +<p>It was a lovely Saturday in May. We had +just got up from a late lunch when there came a +violent ring at the door bell. The Head of +Affairs was in the hall at the moment, and he +opened the door—to find two big sailor-men on +the doorstep, each carrying a parcel. They +inquired for me.</p> + +<p>Now, like most other households, khaki and +navy blue always find a welcome at our door for +the sake of our own who are away, serving their +country, and those who have already laid down +their lives in the cause of Right and Justice.</p> + +<p>So the Head of Affairs walked them straight +in upon me, without waiting to ask for their +birth certificates.</p> + +<p>Did I say they were big? That isn’t the +word for it! They were more than that, they +were massive; tall, broad, well-made, and tough-looking, +with beaming, round, red faces; they +ought to have been pictured, just as they were, +for a naval recruiting poster.</p> + +<p>They looked a little confused, for the moment, +at finding themselves precipitated into an unexpected<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> +drawing room; but they made straight +for me, with that large, rolling stride inseparable +from the British sailor. Fortunately the room +isn’t beset in the orthodox fashion with a multitude +of bric-à-brac obstacles in the way of small +chairs and tables, for they seemed to sweep the +decks fore and aft as they strode over the carpet, +and I thought I should never find my hand +again after they had both given it a hearty shake.</p> + +<p>As I looked at the big, burly fellows, both +of them well on to forty I should say, I knew +instinctively that these were our two forlorn +sailor-lads—our poor anæmic, lonely Dick, and +desolate, unsympathised-with Mick. And I +must say I never saw two men bear neglect +more bravely!</p> + +<p>At first, conversation seemed all on my side: +they sat stiffly on the extreme edge of their +chairs, while Dick answered in monosyllables, +Mick seeming permanently tongue-tied! But +the Head of Affairs produced cigars warranted +to banish all nervous embarrassment and to +induce a man to sit comfortably anywhere; and +soon they were giving us details of their homes +and relatives—small things, perhaps, that are +apparently the same the world over, but mean +so much to each individual. It was still Dick +who did most of the talking. He was +undoubtedly the more attractive of the two.</p> + +<p>As they were constantly making wild<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span> +clutches at their parcels which threatened to +tumble off their knees without the slightest +provocation, we offered to put them on the +table. But Dick explained, with almost child-like +confusion, that they were presents for +me and the other lady. And would I mind +taking them? He made Mick open his bundle +first. There came to light an anchor, the +like of which I had never seen before, though +I had heard of their existence. It was about +eighteen inches long, made of red velvet stuffed +with sawdust so as to form an immense pin +cushion. This was most elaborately decorated +with beads—as I thought at first—but it proved +to be pins with coloured glass heads. Lengthwise +down the anchor was this inscription, +carried out in large white-headed pins,</p> + +<p class="center"> +<small>“AFFECTION’S OFFERING.”</small><br /> +</p> + +<p>There were various ribbon bows, and ends and +tags finished off with beads, and a cord for +hanging it on the wall; altogether, it was a most +ornate, glittering creation!</p> + +<p>Keeping company with the anchor was a +wooden rolling pin, that had been enamelled +a delicate pink, with hand-painted sprays of +forget-me-nots at intervals. This also had bows +and ends and a ribbon to hang it on the wall; it +likewise bore an inscription:</p> + +<p class="center"> +<small>“TO GREET YOU.”</small><br /> +</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span></p> + +<p>While I praised the colouring, and the workmanship +of both, I promptly chose the rolling pin.</p> + +<p>Mick looked a trifle disappointed, and +explained that he had really intended the +anchor for me; and thought the rolling pin +would be nice for the lady who had sent the +cakes.</p> + +<p>But I clung to the rolling pin; even though +it wasn’t quite in line with my ideas of decorative +art, its sentiment was so non-committal! +Besides, I wanted Abigail to have the anchor. +Even though it be but a passing incident, it +is pleasant to receive an “affection’s offering” +occasionally, when we are young.</p> + +<p>Dick’s parcel contained a large box covered +with shells, and very pretty it was. In a smaller +packet he had a coral necklace. I chose—and +praised—the box with a perfectly clear conscience +this time. You have to go to a great deal of +trouble before you can vulgarise a sea-shell; and, +fortunately, the box-maker hadn’t taken any +trouble at all; he had merely stuck them +haphazard over the cardboard lid, with a border +of small ones round the edges, and the effect +was lovely. I also knew that Abigail would +much prefer the necklace. You can’t carry a +big box about with you, to display it casually to +your friends.</p> + +<p>My genuine pleasure over the presents thawed +them to such an extent, that Dick then explained<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span> +they had come round with the intention of taking +us out to a picture palace; Mick wanted to take +me, and he, Dick, would take Miss Abigail. +But, he added hesitatingly, that perhaps, after +all, that wasn’t the sort of thing I would care +about; and he looked rather beseechingly at the +Head of Affairs, hoping we should understand +what he couldn’t manage to put very clearly +into words.</p> + +<p>We did understand. Gratitude is none too +plentiful in these days that we could afford to +flout it because it chanced to appear in unconventional +guise. We appreciated all that they +had planned to do by way of saying thank you +for what we had done for them—and it was little +enough we had done, when one considers our +debt to such men as these!</p> + +<p>I explained that though <i>I</i> was engaged that +evening, Abigail was not; and they must now +show her those parcels.</p> + +<p>She had no knowledge that they were in the +house; and you should have seen her face when +she answered the bell and I introduced Mr. Dick +and Mr. Mick.</p> + +<p>In reply to my inquiries as to what she could +do in the way of hospitality, she was certain +that cook could get a really nice meal ready +for them in a few minutes; and if even cook +couldn’t she, Abigail, could, and Pamela had +just come in, and she would help; it wasn’t the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span> +slightest trouble—and she looked positively +radiant as she took the two in tow.</p> + +<p>Having told them that we would wait on +ourselves for the rest of the day, and no one +need stay in, I was not surprised to hear a gay +party setting off a little later on; but I <i>was</i> +surprised to see that it was Pamela, and not +cook, who made the fourth in the quartette!</p> + +<p>Pamela and Abigail hadn’t spoken since the +episode previously mentioned. It was curious +that she should have chanced to call for the +purpose of burying the hatchet, the very +afternoon that the “common sailors,” as she had +called them, should be there!</p> + +<p>For the time of the sailors’ leave I cut the +housework down to the minimum and arranged +a week of cold dinners, Spartan-like in their +simplicity, for ourselves, so that “evenings out” +could be taken as often as my household assistants +pleased.</p> + +<p>I hoped to find the kitchen radiating sunshine +in consequence. Picture my consternation, +therefore, when I came upon Abigail weeping +her eyes out in their sitting-room one afternoon +(when only half of the leave had expired too!), +the coral necklace flung into one corner, and +“affection’s offering” lying face downwards +under the table.</p> + +<p>To give her opportunity to pull herself +together, I picked up the coral necklace and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> +inquired what Mr. Dick would be likely to +think if he saw it there. She sobbed that she +didn’t know and she didn’t care.</p> + +<p>“That Pamela——” Then I saw it all in a +flash!</p> + +<p>Well, to make a long story short, Pamela, +whom I had long known to be as unscrupulous +as she was good-looking, had stepped in and +carried off Dick right from under Abigail’s nose! +She had seen the two men arrive on the previous +Saturday afternoon, and that accounted for her +unexpected call. She had appropriated Dick +from the first minute she saw him.</p> + +<p>“And now,” said Abigail into her handkerchief, +“just ten minutes ago, when I ran out to +post some letters, who should I see coming out +of The Gables, but Dick and that creature, +starting off together for all the world as though +they had known each other all their lives. Only +last night she had the sauce to say <i>she</i> was going +out to Canada when the war was over!”</p> + +<p>I felt truly sorry for the girl, and it was some +satisfaction to me to reflect that Pamela wasn’t +quite as successful as she imagined!</p> + +<p>“I don’t think she will see much of Dick +even if she does go out to Canada,” I said; “I +don’t think his wife would have a room to spare +to invite her there—with seven children. I daresay +Dick told you that the lady in the checked +apron was Mrs. Dick?” I stooped to pick up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> +the forlorn anchor, and dusted it most carefully, +to give her time to recover.</p> + +<p>“No!” she gasped, and then went on bitterly, +“he hasn’t had a chance to tell me a <i>thing</i>, with +Pamela talking to him the whole time! But, of +course, I guessed all along he was married.” She +meant to take her disappointment bravely. “<i>I</i> +don’t want to marry anyone; men are all alike. +But it does make you wild, when——”</p> + +<p>I was facing the window, but Abigail had +her back to it. Therefore she did not see what +I saw coming along the road—a large bunch of +flowers, surmounted by Mick’s round, jovial face.</p> + +<p>“I think I should hang this up,” I interrupted +her, having thoroughly dusted the anchor; “after +all, Mick has no wall of his own to hang it on; +he isn’t like Dick, with a home and wife and +family—and one doesn’t get ‘affection’s offering’ +every day!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, but that wasn’t really meant for me,” +and Abigail’s grief threatened to break out afresh. +“Mick was so taken with the lovely parcels you +sent, and he thought as you lived with me you +were a widow, and——”</p> + +<p>Fortunately, I was spared the rest, for the +downstairs door bell rang with a vehemence that +was now most familiar, and Abigail, patting her +hair and her cap into shape, went smilingly +down the passage to answer the side door.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>XIV<br /> + +<small>The Bonfire</small></h2> + + +<p class="unindent"><span class="smcap">I had</span> pointed out, quite nicely and kindly, to +Virginia, that she was not clipping the top of the +square box-tree table straight and even; and she +had pointed out, quite witheringly, to me that +she was cutting it by perspective, adding that if +I had only been privileged to learn perspective +when I was young, I should have known that +for a thing to be correct in its outlines and +proportions it must necessarily run askew and +aslant and out-at-corners, just as the top of the +box-tree table was now doing. She assured me, +however, that it would appear all right, she +thought, if I looked at it from an airship above, +with half-closed eyes.</p> + +<p>And then she advised me to do a little +hoeing.</p> + +<p>I ignored her sarcasm, knowing full well that +a pair of shears, applied by amateur hands to +tough overgrown greenstuff, is apt to provoke +cutting remarks when the wielder has got to the +moist stage and the hedge is looking like a +ploughed field.</p> + +<p>You see, there was an inwardness in her last +remark; for hoeing looks an easy, graceful, carefree +occupation—till you try it. My own<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span> +method is distinctive; I didn’t invent it, it came +to me as a natural inspiration. I find I invariably +start to hoe with my back, doubling up +more and more, and aching more and more, as I +proceed with the hacking. Then, as I warm to +the work (and it’s very much warm as a rule), I +likewise hoe with my teeth. By the time I have +set and ground these nearly to nothing—my +hands all the while getting lower and lower down +the handle of my tool—I find myself beginning +to hoe quite viciously with my head.</p> + +<p>When I have extracted all the motive power +I can from this part of me, and have projected it +so far in front of the rest of me—hoe included—that +I almost lose my balance, the only thing +left for me to do, by way of piling up yet more +energy and effort, appears to be to go down +on all fours, seeing that by this time I am +clasping the hoe handle at about a foot from the +ground.</p> + +<p>Fortunately, it is just here that I usually +realize what I am doing, and I straighten my +rounded back, and undo my teeth (that doesn’t +sound polite, but you know what I mean), and +return my head to its proper place. I then +remind myself that I am not hoeing at all +scientifically, that most of the energy I have +been putting forth has been waste—because misdirected—force.</p> + +<p>Whereupon I stand at ease, and other things<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span> +like that. Maintaining the upright as far as I +can, I take hold of the top end of the long +handle of my weapon, and, still keeping quite in +the perpendicular, I merely hoe with my arms, +thus saving the rest of me quite a considerable +number of unclassified aches. So long as I can +remember to keep my vertebræ like this, all is +well, and I really get through a fair amount of +work. But, alas, I soon forget.</p> + +<p>One thing I have never yet managed to do is +to keep cool and collected, my misfortune being +that I boil up so soon. My hat gets out of +angle, my hair flattens out where it ought to be +wavy, and waves around where it ought to lie +flat; and—worst of all—it ceases to worry me +that these things are so.</p> + +<p>And then I open a periodical wherein some +unknown celebrity has been photographed “at +home”; and she is sure to be shown “in the +garden,” where, behold! you see her in the airiest +of fashionable nothings in the way of a white +frock, accompanied by a ten-guinea hat, a twenty-guinea +dog, and a sixpence-halfpenny trowel—all +worn with consummate photographic grace, +as she artlessly sets to work to transplant a hoary +wistaria that has smothered the (photographer’s) +verandah for fifty years, explaining to the interviewer, +meanwhile, how she simply adores +gardening, how she gets all her ideas for the +dresses she wears in the third act from her pet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> +bed of marigolds, and how she never dreams of +taking part in a first night performance without +having previously run the lawn-mower twice +round the gravel paths.</p> + +<p>Clever creature; you don’t wonder she is +labelled a celebrity; any woman who can keep +that hat on while using that trowel, has accomplished +something!</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>I didn’t feel like hoeing just then, no matter +what the cost of my gardening outfit. The +moment seemed to call for non-strenuous occupation +that would admit of leisurely movement +and unlimited pauses with nothing doing—which +is what I find a mind like mine requires.</p> + +<p>Of course there was plenty of hoeing waiting +to be done, there always is; I never knew a soil +so chock-full of weed-seeds as ours seems to be, +and I never knew a place where folks are so little +worried by them. Where things grow as easily as +they do about our hills and valleys (and where the +angle of the garden is just what ours is), you will +find that the native reduces land-labour to the +minimum, and nothing is disturbed unless absolutely +necessary. Reasonably, if you have left +the hoe at the top of the garden, and the top is +a hundred feet above the bottom of the garden +where you are standing, you think twice before +you climb up and fetch it.</p> + +<p>As one result of this universal conservation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> +of energy, our local nettle crop is one of the +finest in the kingdom, I verily believe.</p> + +<p>“Why are those things left standing in every +field corner?” I asked a farmer on one occasion, +pointing to the usual grey-green waving jungle +of weeds.</p> + +<p>“They nettles?” he questioned, in surprise; +“well, what’s the good of wasting attention on +’em? They don’t hurt no one!”</p> + +<p>Incidentally I may say it is always well to +criticize the methods employed on other people’s +land rather than those practised on your own, +since most right-minded employés resent any +implication, no matter how politely you wrap it +up, that improvement is possible; and if you +question the why and wherefore of anything, it +may be mistaken for fault-finding in this imaginative +age. Hence, unless the handy man chances +to be one of exceptional make up, I go farther +afield when gleaning information.</p> + +<p>One day I watched a man very leisurely inspecting +a thistle in a meadow by the weir, and +then, with a deliberation that was most restful to a +harried, hustled, war-time Londoner, he tenderly +and carefully cut it off near the ground with a +scythe. After he had decapitated about twenty +thistles in this way, he naturally needed a little +time for recuperation, and sat down on the river +bank to meditate. I hadn’t liked to interrupt +him when he was working, because so far as I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span> +could roughly estimate, there were thirteen +thousand four hundred and fifty-three thistles in +the meadow—approximately, you understand—and +we don’t work according to trade union +hours here; sometimes we start an hour later +and leave off an hour earlier, and miss out +several in between. But since he had evidently +reached his rest-hour—and remembering that +one of my own fields was plentifully dotted with +thistles at the moment, and feeling quite equal +myself to that gentle picturesque swish of the +scythe—I asked him whether that process killed +the thistle right out? (My business instinct forbade +my wasting time on the job if it would all +have to be done over again later on.)</p> + +<p>No, he said, he didn’t think as how it +would kill the thistles right out.</p> + +<p>Then why did he do it that way? I asked, +instead of spudding the thing right up by the +root?</p> + +<p>“Well”—and he scratched his head thoughtfully—“doing +it like this jest diskerridges of ’em +a bit, and isn’t sech a deluge o’ trouble as mooting +’em right out would be.” And with that he +promptly dropped thistles, and proceeded to +discuss the fiendishness of the Germans.</p> + +<p>He had a long talk (there wasn’t room for +me to say anything), and gave recipes for annihilating +completely everything connected with +them (excepting thistles; I presume they have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> +some; they deserve a good crop, anyhow), +finishing up with—</p> + +<p>“But thur—what I says about ’em I won’t +exackly repeat in yer presence, m’m; for my +wife often says to me, ‘It won’t do nobody no +pertickler good,’ she says, ‘if you gets yerself shut +out o’ Heaven by yer langidge,’ she says, ‘just +to spite they Huns, what don’t even <i>hear</i> it!’”</p> + +<p>For a full two minutes he worked that +scythe with real zest, as though onslaughting the +enemy.</p> + +<p>Perhaps his method is right (in regard to +thistles, I mean), perhaps it is wrong; I’ve +never gone sufficiently deep into the subject +to be competent to pass an opinion. But I do +know that the larger proportion of handy men +who have honoured me with their patronage +(though there are conspicuous exceptions) invariably +weed on these lines of least resistance, +and “jest diskerridge ’em”—though I own it +takes a lot to discourage <i>our</i> weeds!</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Not feeling like diskerridging weeds at the +moment, I asked Ursula to suggest some occupation +for my idle hands, though I didn’t put +it like that; I inquired which of the many jobs +needing urgent attention I had better tackle +next. (It came to the same thing in the end; +but instead of advertising my natural indolence, +I hoped it would convey an impression that I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span> +was rushing pell-mell through an endless succession +of tasks.)</p> + +<p>Ursula was sitting on a pile of logs under a +big fir tree inside the orchard gate—oh yes, +there are firs in the orchard, and lilacs, and +daffodils, and snowdrops, and a huge Wellingtonia, +and a trickle of water with forget-me-nots +and mint on its brink; we’re not at all particular +about classification. She was darning a stocking, +and it seemed a lengthy job. Not that there +was any large, vulgar gash in the stocking; it +was merely suffering from general war-time +debility, and was one of those that you can go +on and on darning, and still find more thin places +to run up and down.</p> + +<p>Have you ever noticed what a snare a +stocking of this description can be? You can +sit at it for an hour or so, until it seems easier +to go on darning it than to bestir yourself to do +anything else. In the end, you haven’t accomplished +much, considering the time you’ve been +about it, but you have acquired a large dose of +the virtuous and exemplary feeling that is always +the outcome of stocking-darning.</p> + +<p>Ursula had got like that, though I wouldn’t +have you think I under-estimated her efforts, for +it was my apparel she was darning.</p> + +<p>“I often think that a garden embodies all the +philosophy of life,” she replied to my query, in +a detached way, as she closely inspected the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span> +stocking foot drawn over her hand, in order to +pounce upon any further signs of impending +dissolution.</p> + +<p>“I seem to fancy I’ve heard that——”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’ve no doubt someone has said it +before me. I’ve noticed over and over again +that people plagiarize my really cleverest remarks +before I’ve actually had time to say them +myself; and I think something ought to be +done to prevent the infringement of copyright +in this barefaced way. But all the same, whether +anyone has, or has not, already helped themselves +to this unique creation of my brain, the fact +remains that I thought it out for myself, alone +and unaided. And the more I meditate upon +it, the more I notice what heaps of things in the +garden resemble life.”</p> + +<p>“As for example——?”</p> + +<p>“Well, slugs, for instance, and the bindweed, +and the rabbits, and the broad beans. They all +seem to typify that here we have no abiding +anything.”</p> + +<p>I agreed mournfully, as I thought of the +succulent, hopeful-looking scarlet runners that +the slugs had eaten right through the tender +main stems close to the ground. It was a sad +awakening for us the day we found a few score +of limp and dying remains, where over-night we +had watered as promising a row of youngsters +as one could have wished to see. To our grieving<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> +spirits, it seemed as though it wouldn’t have +been nearly so bad if they had eaten the leaves +and left us the stems, at least more leaves might +have grown, whereas now——!</p> + +<p>And the bindweed—where could you find a +more striking analogy to original sin? Flaunting +beautiful flowers (which I greatly love), yet all +the while spreading wicked roots out of sight, +choking everything it lays hold of, turning up in +the most unlooked-for places—but there is no +need to write more under this heading; a healthy +crop of bindweed (and I never knew one that +wasn’t most irritatingly healthy) could give points +to a preacher every Sunday in the year, and then +have enough to spare for the week-night services. +And when he had done with bindweed, he could +start afresh on mint.</p> + +<p>Rabbits, again, are dear things, with an +appeal that is quite different from that of any +other of the wild things. Sometimes in the +past, when I have been doomed to sit for an +hour or so in the airlessness and weariness of +crowded hall or place of entertainment, or in +the loneliness of a congested social function, +where everybody is too buzzingly busy with +“being social” to have time to say a word to +anyone, I just switch my mind right off the +glare and the heat and the stuffiness and the +superficiality and the heartlessness, and take a +look at the little orchard adjoining the cottage<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> +garden, and for just a minute I watch the +rabbits, nibbling the grass, sitting up on their +hind legs to get a better view of any possible +enemy-approach, and scampering back to cover +in the coppice with a bobbing of white tails, at +the least suspicion of danger. To a woman +there is something very touching about the +timidity of these little brown things. I always +wish I could make them understand that I am +their friend and not their enemy—but this is a +difficult matter, because there is the small white +dog to be considered in the compact, and there +is no sentimentality about him where rabbits are +concerned!</p> + +<p>I wouldn’t be without these little furry +families in the coppice, but oh, I do wish they +would leave the young cabbages alone, or at any +rate spare the tenderest of the green leaves! It +is a bit damping even to ardour like ours to be +greeted, when we arrive from town, by a gardener +waving a deprecating hand over rows of hardy +cabbage stumps bereft of leaves. At such times +it seems as though it wouldn’t have been nearly +so bad if they had eaten the stems and left us +the leaves, at least we could have cooked them, +whereas now——!</p> + +<p>Rabbits certainly emphasize the fact that +life grows thistles as well as figs.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>With regard to the beans, it is difficult to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span> +be philosophical. I can be to some extent +resigned when my misfortunes are handed out +to me by Nature, but it is a different thing +when they are manufactured for me (at my +expense, too) by my fellow-creatures.</p> + +<p>On the whole, I cannot speak too highly of +the men who have worked for me about the +Flower-patch; I have been exceedingly well +served, but now and again one comes upon misfortune, +and on one occasion I found I had +engaged an Ananias of the most proficient +type. During his brief <i>régime</i> the weeds thrived +apace, while the choicest bulbs and flowers took +on a world of diskerridgement. When the +black pansies, and the heliotrope Spanish iris +feathered with white and yellow, and the rare +delphiniums, and the yellow arum lily disappeared +at one fell swoop, Ananias shook his +head sadly and put their defalcation down to the +rush of the rain and the angle of the earth.</p> + +<p>“Everything do simply run off this soil!” he +explained.</p> + +<p>Quite true; it certainly did. And two legs +invariably ran with it.</p> + +<p>And the vegetables seemed as subject to +diskerridgement as the flowers, though it was +always referred to as “blight.”</p> + +<p>There were the broad beans, for instance; +I had given him two quarts of seed, and indicated +where I would like them planted. They were a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span> +special prize strain that had been sent to me by +a famous firm of seedsmen, who had been moved +to this generous deed on reading some of the +chronicles of the Flower-patch when they were +first published in <i>The Woman’s Magazine</i>. The +head of the firm wrote me that they were a new +mammoth variety, and they would be pleased +if I would try them in my cottage garden.</p> + +<p>We planned great things when those broad +beans should be ready. Two quarts would make +about ten rows, we reckoned, quite a goodly +plantation for us; and we decided that as we +should have plenty, considering our small household, +we would be extravagant and gather our +first dishful when they were quite young and in +that deliciously tender state that is unknown to +the town dweller, who seldom sees a broad bean +till it is a tough old patriarch, and in such a +condition considers it a coarse vegetable.</p> + +<p>It was a cold day in February when I handed +the seed to Ananias; we were returning to +London the same day, so we beguiled part of +the long journey discussing whether that first +dish should be accompanied by parsley sauce +and boiled ham, or whether to fry the ham and +have the broad beans given one turn in the +frying-pan after they were boiled.</p> + +<p>The subject seemed more and more vital the +further we got along the road, for we couldn’t +get luncheon baskets (no, not the War; it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span> +before that event, and due to one of the many +cheerful strikes with which our pre-war existence +was punctuated), and the bananas and Banbury +cakes we purchased <i>en route</i> seemed woefully +unsatisfying. Hence, it was pleasant, but very +tantalizing, to contemplate that dish of beans, +and we finally agreed that the ham should be +fried, and that we would dig some new potatoes +specially for the occasion. We sat and meditated +on that meal, as the winter landscape flew past +us, and the more we meditated the more +violently hungry we got.</p> + +<p>You see, the beans really assumed more than +ordinary importance.</p> + +<p>But alas, when bean time came, all that +decorated the bean plot was one miserable row +of wretched-looking stalks.</p> + +<p>“It’s that thur blight agin,” remarked Ananias; +“I watched it a-comin’ up the valley.”</p> + +<p>“But why didn’t you pinch off the tops, if +they were showing blight?” I inquired; “then +they would have made fresh shoots lower down.”</p> + +<p>He shook his head and looked at me pityingly: +“We don’t do our beans like that a-here.”</p> + +<p>“And where are all the other rows,” I +asked; “I suppose blight didn’t carry off roots +and all of the remainder?”</p> + +<p>“No, ’twere slugs, I warrant, or birds, or +else the seed were stale, maybe.”</p> + +<p>Ursula carefully turned over the rest of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span> +ground later on, but never a glimmer of a +benighted bean did she find.</p> + +<p>Still, Ananias was, as usual, quite willing +to be obliging. “My beans has done uncommon +well this year,” he continued. “It’s jest all +accordin’ how it takes ’em; sometimes mine +does well and t’other people’s doesn’t; and then +agin t’other people’ll have a fine crop and I +won’t have a bean. I can let you have some o’ +mine if you like. I know you’re powerful fond +o’ broad beans. I allus say you’re jest like my +missus.” (I’m sorry I haven’t a portrait of stout, +unwashed, sixty-five-year-old Sapphira to reproduce; +without it you cannot possibly understand +how pleased I was!)</p> + +<p>He brought over half a bushel, explaining +that he had to charge twopence a pound more +than other people, as these were specially large +and good yielders, that were expensive in the +first place.</p> + +<p>They were remarkably fine beans, indeed as +fine as I have ever seen; and I wrote to the +firm of seedsmen and told them their mammoth +variety had proved all they claimed for it.</p> + +<p>I conclude the miserable row in my garden +was a twopenny packet bought from the travelling +huckster who peddles seeds around the +villages at suitable seasons.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>These instances are sufficient to indicate the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span> +trend of Ursula’s thoughts when she started to +philosophize on the garden. She interrupted her +valuable remarks, however, to exclaim: “Do +look at that wench!” And Virginia might well +be looked at! Her exertions had turned her the +colour of a peony; down her face streamed +copious “extract of forehead.” The clipping +mania had got thorough hold of her, and she +was trying to trim every hedge about the place, +leaving in her wake a trail of clippings for someone +else to clear up—as is the way with all +first-class amateurs.</p> + +<p>The next task pointed out itself. Ursula +got a birch broom, while I trundled the wheelbarrow +out of the tool barn; and seeing that +there was already a pile of greenstuff waiting +disposal, I started a bonfire, while Ursula swept +up and supplied extra fuel.</p> + +<p>I feel sorry for the town dweller; he knows +nothing of the real charm of a bonfire. All too +often the word stands to him for nothing more +than a mass of damp and decaying leaves that +simply won’t burn. He can only attend to it +after his return from business, unless he be one +of the favoured few in town who have gardens +sufficiently large to allow of their keeping regular +gardeners. And unfortunately the lighting restrictions +of the present day give no real scope +to the bonfire maker—even if he has anything +worth burning. His dank mass smoulders to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span> +death, or he adds paraffin to encourage it, and +the neighbours close their windows with meaning +violence, while the parish reeks of the obnoxious +odour. Seldom has he air enough to fan anything +like a good fire; and at length, after +burning the dozenth newspaper, and listening to +minute statistical particularization on the part of +his wife regarding the present price of matches, +collectively and individually (with deviations <i>re</i> +sultanas, lemon soles, kitchen tea, coal-cards, +sugar for the charwoman, ½<i>d.</i> per lb. for delivery, +soda, a financial comparison of pre-war sirloin +with modern soup-bones, and the antiquity of +the new-laid hen), he flings himself disgustedly +indoors again, depositing a layer of greasy town-garden +soil and dead leaves on the door-mat, and +perchance trailing it up to his dressing-room.</p> + +<p>The town bonfire is usually an abomination; +the country bonfire is often sheer delight; and +the reason for this difference is due to the fact +that the shut-in nature of the average town back-plot +seldom supplies the good current of air that +a bonfire needs to get it going full-swing; and +more than this, the refuse that collects in a +town garden is often sooty, unsanitary and malodorous. +Whereas in the country there is a great +diversity of stuff to be burnt, and much of it is +delightfully aromatic. Also, the wind that +sweeps continually over our hills, for instance, +dries up the rubbish pile—unless it be actually<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span> +raining; we seldom get that dank sodden stuff +that is the bane of the town gardener. We can +always get a current of air, if not a stiff breeze, +to fan the first stages; and being unhampered +by the claims of city offices, we can start it in the +morning, and keep it going the whole day long. +Our only trouble is to get the red-hot mass to +slumber through the night; it has such a trick +of suddenly bursting out again about 2 <span class="smcap">a.m.</span>, +lighting up the cottage in the dark, and flaming +forth a vivid beacon worthy of the men of +Harlech, and recalling stirring scenes in old +romance—only the local constabulary have no +poetic leanings, and merely see in it a case for a +£10 fine under the Defence of the Realm Act.</p> + +<p>I started the bonfire—not with newspapers, +these are far too few and precious; why, our +very paper bags are smoothed out and treasured +in a dresser drawer; some done-with straw and +dry leaves make a good beginning, with some of +the dead twigs from the larches. If there are +laurel clippings to put on next, and there usually +are, then success is assured.</p> + +<p>Soon the flames were licking up my initial +work, and I proceeded to pile on hedge trimmings, +the sweepings-up of an apple-tree that +had blown down and been sawn up—and how +sweet they made the air! Thistles, nettles, +brambles, surplus raspberry canes that spring up +everywhere, a holly-bush that had lately been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span> +cut down, worthless gooseberry bushes, piles of +ivy that had been cut from the walls, more +barrow-loads of stuff tipped on by Ursula—how +the laurel flared and the yew crackled, and one’s +eyes smarted as the smoke swept round like a +whirlwind and enveloped one at times! I am a +great believer in the burning of all refuse vegetation; +it does away with so much blight and +vermin and plant disease, and clears out mosquito +haunts, and is generally sanitary.</p> + +<p>Virginia had betaken herself to cooler climes, +but Ursula and I worked at that heap, forking +on new stuff to stop up flame bursts, till we too +were shedding dew from our foreheads, and our +hands were almost sore with wielding the heavy +forks.</p> + +<p>Yet a fascination keeps you at it, till you are +smoke-dried and fire-toasted and arm-aching to +the last degree. When the shades of evening +finally call you in (as a rule, meals are most +perfunctory when a bonfire is in progress) you +are saturated from head to foot with the bonfire, +your very hair has absorbed the time-old pungent +odour of the smoke of forest fires.</p> + +<p>And maybe months and months afterwards +you open a seldom used wardrobe, where old +gardening gear and shabby mackintoshes are +kept, and suddenly you are overwhelmed with +the scent of burning pear and birch leaves and +yew; the lure of the woods calls aloud to you;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span> +you feel the sweep of the winds on the hills +alternating with the great swirls of grey-blue +bonfire smoke; the cramped town vanishes, and +you are in free open spaces once more——</p> + +<p>And all because a certain tweed skirt, or +light gardening coat is hanging in the corner of +the wardrobe.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>If you want a bonfire with a delicious scent +that will haunt you with a poignant memory +long after its ashes have gone the way of all +things, pile up dead apple leaves and twigs, +pine needles, beech leaves, the trimmings of the +sweet bay bushes, brambles, rose-stalks and +larch—and the incense of the forest will be +yours, bringing with it a mystic sense of nearness +to primæval things that no perfume sold in +cut-glass bottles has yet been able to conjure up.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>We didn’t wait till sun-down, however, that +day; for we were in the most thrilling part of +the afternoon forking-up, and our complexions +were at their very, <i>very</i> worst, when Abigail +tripped out and announced:</p> + +<p>“The Rector. . . . Oh, you needn’t worry +about your appearance, ma’am. Miss Virginia’s +talking to him. . . . Yes, she’s changed <i>her</i> +dress, and is telling him just what you look like.”</p> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>XV<br /> + +<small>The Meeting at the +Cottage</small></h2> + + +<p class="unindent">“<span class="smcap">I have</span> been wondering,” the Rector began, “if +it would be possible for you to let us have a +Temperance Meeting here in your cottage? I +feel sure it would be productive of good, and we +sadly need more aggressive Temperance work in +this parish. And a little gathering in a private +house would be more of a novelty than one held +in the Parish Room, or at the Rectory.”</p> + +<p>“A Temperance Meeting!” I repeated, rather +hesitatingly, I confess. I knew well enough that +there was work waiting to be done in this +direction, but whether those who most needed +reforming could be got inside my door was quite +another matter.</p> + +<p>“Oh, but I am not meaning an evening +meeting for the purpose of reaching the men +themselves,” the Rector explained. “My idea +is to have an afternoon Ladies’ Meeting to +discuss more particularly the question of prohibition. +We might eventually get up a week +of meetings in various parts of the district. Only +it all wants talking over. There are a number of +ladies who would be willing to aid, if only some +definite scheme were put before them. If you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span> +would issue the invitations, I know they would +be only too pleased to come; and we could +possibly get a committee appointed as the initial +step in the proceedings.”</p> + +<p>I saw at once that the idea was a practical +one. Quite a goodly handful of ladies would be +available from houses dotted here and there upon +the hillside. So we made a list of those living +near enough to me to be invited.</p> + +<p>“Now, have we overlooked anybody?” I +said finally, going down the list once more. It +included the Manor House and one or two other +large country houses where I knew the people +would be sympathetic, the rest being cottage-residences +and small places inhabited by people +of the educated classes, who kept simple, unassuming +establishments—some from choice, +some because their means were small. In several +cases the ladies dispensed with any servant, finding +that life’s problems and breakages and fingermarks +were much reduced when they did the +work themselves!</p> + +<p>“By the way, there are two visitors in the +place at present, who would like to come, I am +sure,” said the Rector, “One is a very nice girl, +who has been doing V.A.D. work since the +beginning of the War. She is here recruiting +after a nervous breakdown; and is boarding at +the Jones’s farm—I know she would appreciate +an invitation.” I duly wrote down her name.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span></p> + +<p>“And the other, Miss Togsie, is a literary +lady, and is lodging with old Mrs. Perkins; do +you happen to know her name?”</p> + +<p>I had never heard it before.</p> + +<p>“Ah! neither had I. But then that would +not be remarkable. Only she seemed surprised +to think I did not know of her, though, so far as +I can ascertain, she has never actually published +anything. She is engaged on some book of +research, which she regards as an important +contribution to the literature of the times, though +for the moment the subject has escaped my +memory. She is so exceedingly anxious to +meet you; in fact, she—er—suggested that I +should take her with me to call on you; but I +told her that you come down here for rest and +quiet, and to escape the conventionalities of +society. She is rather a—er—persistent lady, +however; and she says her admiration for you is +unbounded. So possibly, if you have no objection, +it might make a pleasant interlude if she +were invited also.”</p> + +<p>I was not very anxious to have her, but I +agreed, as the Rector seemed to wish it. Still, I +am afraid my smile was a trifle ironical, as I tailed +the list with her name.</p> + +<p>Unfortunately, the very day of the meeting +was the one suddenly selected by Abigail’s sister +for her wedding; of course, I insisted that +Abigail must not miss the function, and sent her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span> +back to town the day before. But when the +preparations were divided between the three of +us, they did not amount to much in the way of +extra work; and Ursula made herself responsible +for the fresh relays of tea that would be necessary +for new arrivals.</p> + +<p>As is the custom in the country, everybody +walked round the garden to see how the things +were coming on, and we all compared notes with +each other’s gardens, and, of course, everybody +complimented me on the forwardness of my +things—as in duty bound, seeing they were +drinking my tea!</p> + +<p>The V.A.D. proved a delightful girl, very +nervous at first, but very appreciative. And as +all my other visitors were fully engaged in +chatting together in twos and threes, I devoted +myself to the shy outsider. The Literary Lady +had not yet appeared.</p> + +<p>“I come up every day and look over the wall +at your flowers,” the girl said. “I believe +they’ve done me far more good than the tonic +I’ve been taking.”</p> + +<p>“I invariably take a dose of them myself, +when I’m run down,” I replied. We were +wandering around the narrow paths, between the +beds edged with pieces of grey stone. The paths +were beginning to be weedy; and the garden +was a mixture of early and late spring flowers, +owing to the undue length of the winter.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span></p> + +<p>But for the V.A.D. there were no imperfections. +“I’ve never seen cowslips like these +before,” and she stooped and touched them +lovingly. “Those mahogany-coloured ones are +so rich. And I like the deep reddy-orange ones +too. Oh—I like them all!” she added, with a +sigh of pleasure. “And when I was ill in +London, before they sent me down here, I felt +as though I should die if I couldn’t get away +somewhere, where there were flowers and sunshine +and where the trees and foliage were fresh +and clean. Wherever I looked there were grey +skies, and dingy houses, and discoloured paint, +and dirty streets, and miserable-looking squares +and sooty stuff that it was pitiful to call grass, +and smoke and mud all the same colour and +equally stupefying. Do you think that dirt can +get on people’s nerves?”</p> + +<p>I nodded. Don’t I know only too well how +the grime and gloom and all-pervading sordidness +of big cities can get on one’s nerves! Don’t +I know how in time they seem to corrode +one’s very soul, and dull one’s vision, till faith +itself can become clouded, and hope goes, and all +one’s work seems of no avail! But the merciful +Lord has provided an antidote. It was a Tree +He showed at the waters of Marah; and the +leaves of the Tree are for the healing of the +nations in more senses than one.</p> + +<p>The girl continued her confidences: “When<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span> +I lay awake at nights with insomnia, I used to +shut my eyes and think out the garden I wanted +to find. It wasn’t a grand garden, or a gorgeous +one that I used to plan—carpet bedding and +terraces with beds of geraniums and peacocks +would have tired me to arrange in proper style +just then. The garden I wanted was the sort of +happy place where flowers seem to grow of their +own accord with no one to worry them about +tidy habits!</p> + +<p>“And then, it was quite remarkable, the day +after I arrived here, I chanced upon the lane +leading to your cottage, and there I saw the very +garden I had been so longing for, and the masses +of flowers and colour I had been quite hungry to +see. I could hardly tear myself away from the +little gate. Of course, the florists wouldn’t think +much of me for saying it, but although I admire +with real wonder the magnificent blooms they +exhibit at shows, I would rather have that piece +of rocky wall, with its wallflowers on the top, +than the most expensive orchids they could show +me. But perhaps all this seems rather childish +to you?”</p> + +<p>Yet it didn’t! I knew exactly what she +meant; and every flower-lover will understand it +too. There are times when I go a good deal +farther than the V.A.D., and actually object to +some of the improvements on Nature horticulturists +think they can make. What is gained by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span> +trying to produce rhododendrons looking like +gypsophila, while at the same time they are +trying to get gypsophila looking like pæonies? +What purpose is served in the modern craze for +getting every flower to look like any other flower +excepting itself? While I don’t mean to imply +that I am so narrow as to object to attempts at +horticultural development, there certainly are +limits to desirable expansion—as Shakespeare +very well knew.</p> + +<p>But I had no time to say more, for as she +was speaking I caught sight in the distance of a +stalwart, aggressive-looking female, with an armful +of MSS. and walking-stick clasped to her +waistbelt, and clad in a long, loose, tussore silk +coat (we were all wearing them short at the +moment) that she clutched to her chest with her +other hand, as it had lost its fastenings, and was +threatening to blow away. Her hat was of the +fluffy “girlie” description, somewhat bizarre in +shape, which looked preposterous above the +lady’s mature locks, more especially as she had +put it on hind part front, not even bothering +herself to ascertain its compass points.</p> + +<p>Miss Togsie was blandly unconscious of any +incongruity in her personal appearance, and +entered the gate with the assured step of “mind +quite oblivious of matter.” Precipitating herself +on Ursula—the only hatless person in +sight, hence evidently not a fellow guest—she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span> +exclaimed in a strident voice, “The Editor of <i>The +Woman’s Magazine</i>, I believe? <i>So</i> glad to meet +you. I’ve been <i>longing</i> to know you. <i>So</i> kind +of you to ask me to this <i>delightful</i> gathering——” +etc.</p> + +<p>Now, as I told Ursula later, if she had been +a true friend, she would merely have smiled +sweetly and wafted the new arrival into the +house, and silenced her with refreshments. +Instead of which, she meanly disclaimed all +editorial connections, and piloted her up the +garden to me. Whereupon we began all over +again. I waited patiently till she reached a +semicolon, and then invited her to come indoors +and have some tea.</p> + +<p>“No tea for <i>me</i>, thank you!” she exclaimed, +in tones of stern disapproval. “I never touch +tea.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps you would like some milk and a +sandwich?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no! I never take flesh foods of any +description. I adhere strictly to the fruit diet +which Nature has so bountifully provided for +our use. If you happen to have a banana, or a +few muscatels——” I hadn’t.</p> + +<p>“It’s of no consequence,” she said, with an +air of kindly tolerance for my shortcomings. +“I’m perfectly happy here under the blue dome +of heaven.” My other guests seemed to have +had enough of her already, and were making<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span> +their way towards the house, as it was nearly +time to start the meeting; but Virginia linked +her arm in that of the V.A.D., and followed +close at my heels; for her, the lady promised to +be interesting.</p> + +<p>“Oh, what adorable kroki!” the newcomer +went on, without any break, apostrophising a few +late crocuses that were already looking jaded. +“And those daisies! I do so <i>love</i> daisies, don’t +you? ‘Wee modest crimson-tipped flowers’—you +remember the poet’s allusion, of course? +So appropriate.” The flowers she was pointing +at with her knotty walking-stick were particularly +large, buxom-looking red double daisies, a +prize variety, that not even the imagination of +a poet could have described as “wee”!</p> + +<p>“It’s wonderful how literature opens one’s +eyes to the beauties of nature. I always say +‘Read the poets,’ then it will not matter whether +you stay in town or country, nature will be an +open book to you.” (Undoubtedly the Literary +Lady had arrived; and she was bent either on +improving or on impressing us!) “The poets +take you into the very <i>heart</i> of things. ‘A +primrose by a river’s brim’; where can you find +a truer picture of the simple wayside flower? +And isn’t that an exquisite line, ‘A rose by any +other name would smell as sweet’? I entirely +agree with Shakespeare in this” (which was nice +of her!); “it is just as I was saying, it really<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span> +doesn’t matter whether you know a single flower +individually—or whether you have ever seen a +flower, in fact—all nature can be yours. I consider +it criminal to neglect the poets. Wherever +the eye wanders,” she went on, “it recalls some +great truth that has been crystallised for us by +literary men” (evidently the flowers themselves +were of small count; all that mattered was what +pen-and-ink could make out of them).</p> + +<p>“And Ladysmocks all silver white.” It was +evident that she was warming to the work and +going farther afield, for here the stick took a +dangerous sweep round in mid-air (Virginia +saved her head by dodging it), and was now +pointing into the copse the other side of the +garden-wall, where the anemones were still in +bloom. “I simply revel in Lady’s Smocks, +don’t you?” she said ardently to Virginia, and +then smiled expansively into the copse, though +there wasn’t a solitary Lady’s Smock there.</p> + +<p>“For my own part, I must say I prefer +Doxies,” said Virginia sweetly. “‘The Doxy +over the dale,’ as Shakespeare so beautifully +expresses it. Don’t you just <i>love</i> them?”</p> + +<p>The V.A.D. had turned her back on us and +was studying the distant hills.</p> + +<p>“Virginia,” I interpolated hurriedly, for I +scented trouble immediately ahead, “isn’t that +the Rector coming up the lane? Then we +must be getting indoors.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span></p> + +<p>But the Literary Lady had not nearly said +all she had come intending to say; so she told +me as we walked to the house that she herself +was engaged on a most exhaustive literary work, +entitled, “The Cosmic Evidences of Woman’s +Supremacy.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” I said, in a blank tone of voice that +wasn’t intended to commit me to anything. +I’ve handled many similarly exhaustive MSS. in +my time, and I’ve met many authoresses of the +same, and my one terror was lest she should +start to give me a detailed synopsis of each +chapter. But fortunately we reached the house +before she could get fairly launched.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>After the opening hymn and prayer, the +Rector briefly sketched his idea in calling the +meeting together, and, after reminding us how +desirable it was at a time like this that some +active campaign should be set afoot to combat +the drunkenness that had been such a bane to +our land, he asked if any ladies who had suggestions +to make would kindly speak briefly and to +the point. Hardly had he sat down before the +Literary Lady was on her feet urging upon us +all the necessity for giving up our inebriate +habits! You would have thought she was +addressing loafers inside a public-house.</p> + +<p>I sat as patiently as I could waiting for her +to sit down and give place to someone else, who,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span> +at least, knew whom they were addressing. But +next moment I found, to my amazement, that +she was lecturing us on the advantages of a +fruitarian diet, assuring us that most of the evils +flesh is heir to (including drunkenness) would be +done away with if we only chained our appetites +to fruit. She was blissfully unaware that the +cause of all the trouble in our district was—cider! +After every form of food that was not +fruit had been abused, she passed on—by a +transition that seemed easy to her, but unaccountable +to everyone else—to the question of +woman’s suffrage, and we learnt that another +cause for drunkenness was to be found in the +fact that women had had no votes. And then +it dawned upon me that we had let ourselves +in for an afternoon with some irresponsible +crank.</p> + +<p>It really seemed as though she meant to go +on for ever. The Rector’s gentle and courteous +attempts to stem the rushing torrent were not +of the slightest avail. He tried to interpolate a +remark now and again, but she never even heard +him; she was addressing us at the very top of +her voice. Of course he ought to have stopped +her at the very outset; but then the situation +was one he had never before been called upon to +face in the whole of his seventy years; hers was +the first female voice to be raised in our parish +in defiance of the Rector!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span></p> + +<p>Equally, of course, I ought to have stopped +her; but one hesitates to take the initiative in +such a case when there is a chairman, and +eventually I let matters get quite beyond me. +I did rise at the back of the room and try to ask +a few questions, but all in vain; the speaker +never paused, and at last I meekly sat down +again, while Virginia and Ursula, with the +V.A.D. between them, suffocated in their +handkerchiefs and showed distinct signs of +getting out of hand! Besides what <i>can</i> anyone +do under such circumstances? I asked Ursula, +who once attended election meetings, what it was +usual to do, and she said, “You just turn them +out when they talk too much.” But who was +to turn her out? And how do you set about it?</p> + +<p>It was evident from her absurd and illogical +statements that neither the Fruitarians nor the +Woman’s Suffrage party owned her or would +have authorised her to advocate their claims. +She was merely one of those women one meets +occasionally who take up every new craze that +comes along, and get on their feet and speak +about their latest hobby, in season and out of +season, having not the slightest sense of proportion, +and of the fitness of things. Such a +woman loves to hear her own voice, and imagines +that other people love to hear it too!</p> + +<p>After half an hour of this sort of thing the +lady of the Manor took her departure—not very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span> +quietly either! As I stepped outside in the +porch to bid her a mournful “Good-bye,” she +pressed my hand and murmured—</p> + +<p>“You poor dear! Do let me know who +finally chokes her!”</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>How we should have silenced her eventually +I don’t know, but the matter was taken out of +our hands by no less important a personage +than Johnny, the boy who delivered the bread +from the village shop.</p> + +<p>Unable to find any Abigail at the kitchen +door, he had come along to the other door to +know how many loaves I required. From my +seat in the room I tried to indicate, by dumb +pantomime, that I wanted one loaf; Miss Smith +caught sight of him, and remembering that she +was two miles away from any bread if he overlooked +her, she told him in a clear voice not to +forget to leave her a loaf. Then everyone else +in the room woke up to the fact that Johnny +was outside, and with one accord they all asked +him if he had remembered them, or told him +how many loaves to leave, and no one troubled +in the slightest whether it interfered with the +speaker or not. In fact, they seemed to enjoy +the clatter they were making.</p> + +<p>Johnny, being attacked by so many voices at +once, stood on the doorstep and addressed the +room stolidly and respectfully—</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I’ve lef’ your loaf on the window-ledge, +Miss Primkins; an’ I put two for you in the +fork of the apple-tree, Miss Robinson, so’s the +dog can’t get at it, as he’s loose; an’ Miss Jones, +your’n is on the garden seat; and I’ve a-put +Mrs. Wilson’s a-top of the wood-pile wiv a bit +of paper under it”—(undue favouritism to +Mrs. Wilson, we all thought!)—“an’ I’ve lef’ +your nutmegs and soda and coffee on the doorstep, +Miss White; and I driv a cow out of your +garden, what had got in, Miss Parker; the gate +was lef’ open; but he’s latched up all right +now——”</p> + +<p>At this intelligence the room gave a general +shuffle, preparatory to a stampede. Why, a +cow might have got into every garden! Who +could tell? And only those who have cherished +gardens in the country know what terrible import +lurked in the words, “The gate was lef’ open!”</p> + +<p>The Rector, seeing where matters were +trending, said we would close with a hymn. +Before he had given out more than one line, +Ursula did what she had never done before, and +has never done since—raised the tune! She +said it was sheer hysterics made her do so. At +any rate we all took it up vigorously, because +we saw the Literary Lady was trying to add a +postscript to her previous remarks. It’s true, +Ursula started us on a six-lined tune, whereas +the verses were only four lines each, but I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span> +fortunately discovered it in time, and repeated +the last two lines to save the situation.</p> + +<p>The people all left hurriedly as soon as the +Benediction had been pronounced; most of +them looking unutterable things at me for +having let them in for such a time! The Literary +Lady alone seemed to have enjoyed herself, +and went away leaving the bundle of MSS. +she had brought, after telling me that she +intended to call on me the very next afternoon +and bring me “The Cosmic Evidences,” as she +felt sure it would be the very thing for my +magazine. The unkindest cut of all, however, +was the farewell remark made by the Vicar’s +niece, as she was adjusting her bonnet-strings—</p> + +<p>“I can’t think why on earth you ever asked +that individual to address us; but I suppose she +is some personal friend of yours?”</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>When the two girls and I were left alone +with the general disorder that always prevails +after one’s guests have gone, Ursula made some +tea, and Virginia brought in what was left of the +festal fare, and we sat around the fire and ate in +melancholy silence.</p> + +<p>“I’m going to town by the very first train +to-morrow,” I said at last.</p> + +<p>“So ’m I!” fervently ejaculated the other +two in unison. “And may I never set eyes +or ears on that fruit creature again,” added<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span> +Virginia, as she set down her plate, with an air +of a pain in her chest, after her sixth cucumber +sandwich.</p> + +<p>But, though I escaped the lady’s next call, I +had not got to the end of her. She sent an +avalanche of MSS. to my office, and called persistently +in person. Howbeit, she never was +troubled to walk beyond the inquiry office, and +her MSS. were always returned to her with the +utmost promptitude.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Some weeks later Virginia and I, after doing +some shopping in the stores, turned into the +refreshment-room for lunch. I do not know any +place where a more varied assortment of feminine +idiosyncrasies thrust themselves upon one’s +notice than in the ladies’ luncheon-room; neither +do I know any place where you can hear, within +a given space of time, more particulars of the +births, marriages, ailments and deaths—plus a +wealth of intervening data—of people you know +nothing about, than in that self-same room.</p> + +<p>We had hardly taken our seats at a table +before we were accompanying our next-door +neighbour to a dentist, she being in a state of +<i>complete</i> nervous prostration (full symptoms +given), and having four teeth extracted (<i>most</i> +obstinate one that came out in eleven separate +pieces) with gas that wouldn’t “take” (italicised +description of what the victim underwent, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span> +was conscious of, in her half-gone condition). +After this we dallied through an exceedingly +comprehensive catalogue of what she had been +able to take in the way of nourishment since the +momentous occasion; and finally received, with +breathless interest, the important information as +to the exact date when she would be once more +fully equipped for dinner-parties.</p> + +<p>On our right two more were discussing, with +gusto, the doings (none of them, apparently, +what she ought to have done) of a bride who +had recently entered their family.</p> + +<p>Our own corner of the room was so engaging +that we did not notice the newcomers who were +finding seats at other tables. But suddenly, +above the general chatter, there arose the sound +of a strident voice that there was no possibility +of mistaking. Virginia and I gasped simultaneously; +and there, a short distance away +from us (though, fortunately with its back +towards us), we beheld the fluffy hat (rightside +front this time), above a screw of hair, and the +long tussore coat of recent blessed memories! +The Literary Lady had a friend with her, but +obviously the friend didn’t count for much, she +hadn’t a chance; at most she only squeezed in a +word when the other made a semi-pause for +breath. We sat spell-bound, and this is what +we heard:</p> + +<p>“Now, dear, what are you going to have?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span> +They have soup, roast beef, roast lamb and mint +sauce, roast mutton” (and so on, she declaimed +the menu to the bitter end, while a long-suffering +waitress stood first on one tired foot +and then on the other). “Oh, but you must +have something more than a bun. . . . Nonsense, +that was hours ago; I had mine late, too, +but I’m quite ready for lunch. . . . On strict +diet, are you? That doesn’t count. Specialists +always say that sort of thing; that’s what you +pay the money for; but it doesn’t follow that +you do what they say. Why, you’d starve to +death if you did, and then you’d have to go to +them again and pay another fee—though I dare +say that’s their idea. . . . You would like a +little roast lamb? Well, I might manage a +little, too, if it is <i>very</i> hot; but I expect they’ve +only got it about lukewarm. If the roast lamb +isn’t quite . . . what? It’s <i>cold?</i> All the joints +are cold? The waitress says it’s <i>cold</i>, dear! +Isn’t it simply ridiculous in a place like London +never to be able to get a hot lunch! . . . What? +The grill is hot? But, my good girl, I don’t +want any grill. . . . And the soup and fish? I +don’t want either soup or fish. . . . No, and I +don’t want hot steak-and-kidney pie. I wanted +hot roast lamb. Still, if you haven’t it, I +suppose it isn’t your fault. All the same, it does +seem as if you are—— . . . . Sausages, did +you say? They would be rather nice. Now<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span> +are <i>they</i> hot or cold, which? . . . <i>Smoked??</i> +Only <i>smoked</i> sausages?? Did you ever know +such a place! . . . What do you say to oysters? . . . +You thought I only took fruit? I tried +that for a little while; my last doctor but one +was very keen on it; but if you believe me, I +was losing <i>pounds</i> a week! I should have been +a perfect skeleton by now if I’d gone on. So I +went to another man, and he insisted—absolutely +<i>insisted</i> that I must take food containing a larger +percentage of proteids. And I wasn’t sorry; I +never had any faith in that fruit idea, only I met +that doctor when I was at the Hydro, and he +begged me to try it. A most charming man, +and he took the <i>greatest</i> interest in my writings; +but someone told me only last week that he has +a wife who is a positive—— . . . . Salmon? Is +there salmon? I didn’t notice it. That wouldn’t +be bad, would it? and the very best thing you +could have as you’re dieting; so digestible, I +always find. Now where’s that girl gone? I +declare they slip away the minute your back’s +turned, and they don’t give you a moment to +look at the menu. Is that our waitress over +there? I think it is; she has on an apron just +like the girl who was here. . . . That’s true, now +you mention it; their aprons are all alike. Still, +I think that was the one, and she’s gone over +there on purpose to be out of reach. But I’ll go +to her.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span></p> + +<p>Here Virginia and I narrowly escaped detection, +for the Literary Lady strode across the +room, knocking down other people’s umbrellas +in passing, brushing one lady’s velvet stole from +the back of a chair, and kicking over a tray that +had been put down in, apparently, the most out-of-the-way +spot in the room. Clutching the +arm of the waitress who belonged to our table +and had no dealings with the other end of the +room, she demanded immediate service. Instinctively +Virginia and I bent our heads forward +as low as possible over our plates, and fortunately +the wide brims of our hats helped to conceal our +features. But we only breathed freely when she +returned to her seat to report to her friend—</p> + +<p>“That waitress says the other girl will be +back in a minute; but I doubt it. There; now +<i>she’s</i> gone off too! Ah, here’s ours—at last! +Now, dear, you said sausage, didn’t you? Or +did we decide on oysters? . . . You’re right; it +was salmon. I always think that salmon—— . . . . +What did you say? . . . Why, of <i>course</i> +we want bread! We couldn’t eat it without, +could we? . . . Oh, I see, you mean bread or +roll? She says will you have bread or roll, +dear? . . . Yes, rolls would be nice, but—— Waitress! +Not crusty ones! . . . Well, perhaps +bread <i>would</i> be softer for you under the +circumstances. Stale bread, waitress! Those +rolls are usually as hard as—— . . . . Yes, perhaps<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span> +we <i>had</i> better decide on what we will have to +drink. I’m going to have lime-juice. You’d +better have some too. It goes so well with +salmon. . . . Of course they have coffee, if you +really prefer it; but I do think that lime-juice—— Well, +if that girl hasn’t gone off again! They +do nothing but run about from pillar to post. +Oh, she is bringing the other things! <i>That</i> isn’t +brown bread, waitress! I said <i>brown</i> bread +surely? I <i>must</i> have said brown bread, because +I positively cannot touch anything else. Don’t +you remember I called you back and said, ‘<i>Brown</i> +bread, waitress?’ Well, if you can change it, +that’s all right. Wait a minute, though; after +all, I think I’ll have white. . . . Yes, you can +leave it; but all the same, I can’t think why +people never listen to what one says.”</p> + +<p>Here half the room broke out into an unconcealed +smile; <i>i.e.</i>, the half that had found it +impossible to raise their voices above hers, and so +had finally given it up as hopeless, and now +devoted themselves to listening. But all oblivious +of everything but herself, she continued—</p> + +<p>“I don’t like the look of that salmon. I feel +sure it’s been frozen. Is that the best you have? +It looks to me like New Zealand or Canterbury +salmon! Really, <i>everything</i> seems to be made in +Germany nowadays, doesn’t it? And no mayonnaise. . . ? +It’s in the cruet? I never care for +that bottled stuff. . . . Oh, yes, leave it; but I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span> +wish now that we had had oysters. . . . It’s no +use offering to change it; we’ve done nothing +else so far but have wrong things brought us to +have changed—or at least it would have been +changed if I hadn’t consented to put up with the +white bread. But you can bring us some lime-juice. +Now don’t forget <i>this</i> time and bring +ginger-beer. . . . Yes, lime-juice for two. . . . +But I thought you agreed to lime-juice just +now? . . . Oh, have what you like by all means; +<i>I</i> don’t mind what it is; I only advised lime-juice +because coffee is so <i>very</i> bad for anyone on +diet, and you can’t be too careful; still, please +yourself, only <i>do</i> let us decide on <i>something</i>, or +she’ll be off again. . . . That’s it, one coffee and +one lime-juice. . . . Yes, with plenty of milk. . . . +Now, I wonder if that scatter-brained girl will +go and put the milk in the lime-juice?</p> + +<p>“You were surprised to hear I was back in +town? I returned last week. I absolutely +couldn’t have <i>existed</i> on that benighted hill-top +another hour. . . . I knew the moment I set +eyes on it that it wasn’t sufficiently cooked. No +one could be expected to eat it. She must get +us something else. Waitress! This salmon +isn’t <i>half</i>-done. It’s as soft as. . . . Oh, I see; +yours is hard? Well, at any rate, it isn’t what +it ought to be. Mine is quite spongy, and this +lady’s is as hard as . . . the skin, is it? . . . this +lady’s skin is just like leather. . . . I suppose it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span> +had better be oysters. . . . Now I wonder how +much longer she’ll keep us waiting? But as I +was saying, they were the dullest, most bucolic +set of people I ever came across; not a thought +above their fowls and cabbages. I tried to +discuss Art and Literature with them—simple +things, not too far above their heads, you know, +just to draw them out; but they merely gazed +at me in utter blankness. . . . Yes, she has a +cottage there; I’d forgotten I mentioned it in +my letter. . . . Oh, yes, I met her; in fact she +persuaded me to address a drawing-room meeting +at her house; she got it up on purpose, hearing +I was in the district. I could ill afford to spare +the time from my book; but she wrote and +made <i>such</i> a point of it, that I could hardly +refuse without seeming rude. She invited a +number of the local people to meet me; but a +more stupid, unimpressionable collection of—— + . . . what is she like? <i>Most</i> ordinary. As you +know, I’m endowed with unusual intuition, and +can gauge people and sum them up in a <i>moment</i>, +and I must say I found her a <i>very</i> uninteresting +person—not to say exceedingly heavy.”</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>“Which only proves,” said Virginia when we +got outside, “that even the worst of us may +profit by hearing the truth spoken in love!”</p> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>XVI<br /> + +<small>Moon-Gold in the +Garden</small></h2> + + +<p class="unindent"><span class="smcap">The</span> flame of August is over all the garden, a +blaze of yellow and scarlet, orange and red, for +most of the blues and pinks go out with July, +though the lavender flowers are opening intensely +blue, and big clumps of eryngium, with +blue stems as well as blue flower-heads, make +masses of contrasting colour amidst the sunflowers, +single and double, and the eschscholtzias +and marigolds glowing golden and undaunted by +the hottest sunshine. The flowers of the Red-hot-poker +rival their namesakes; broad spreading +clumps of montbretia, each waving hundreds of +fiery orange and red blossoms, have sprung into +existence, since last we were here, from lowly +modest-looking patches of green blades.</p> + +<p>The second crop of Gloire-de-Dijon roses are +out, likewise holding in their hearts remembrance +of the hot sunshine that pervades the +earth. Geraniums, turned out of doors “to get +a little air” (though there certainly isn’t much +to get just now!), are shouting aloud in pride of +their heavy, scarlet bosses. The mountain-ash +trees contribute plenty of colour, each branch<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span> +bent down with a smother of bunches of berries, +which are being eagerly devoured by blackbirds, +thrushes and hawfinches.</p> + +<p>Tall red and yellow hollyhocks try to +persuade you that they are nearly as high, and +quite as brilliant, as the mountain-ash.</p> + +<p>Nasturtiums trail all over the place, climbing +where there is next to nothing to support them, +with flowers so thick you lose count of the +foliage. And what a dazzling mass they make, +touched apparently with every shade of yellow +and brown and red, from blossoms of palest +primrose marked with vivid scarlet, past salmon-colour +streaked with orange, and lemon yellow +splashed with chocolate, to dark mahogany-red +smoked with deep purple-brown. They smother +weeds (that gain in impudence as the season +advances), and cover bare places where bulbs +and earlier blooming plants have died down. +They hang over the tops of walls; they crowd +the border pinks into the paths; they get mixed +up with the hedges, and surprise you by sending +out vermilion flowers at the top of a sedate old +box-tree clipped to look like a solid square table. +They run out of the little white gate into the +lane, and they creep under the rails into the +orchard. Indeed, there are times when their +exuberance almost makes one tired, more especially +if the thermometer favours the nineties!</p> + +<p>The garden walls are teeming with colour.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span> +Sweet Alyssum has seeded itself wherever it can +find a spare niche—rather a difficulty, unless a +plant goes house-hunting quite early in the +season! Though the white and purple arabis +finished flowering months ago, it contributes +crimson and purple to the colour scheme, as its +foliage ripens in the hot sun.</p> + +<p>Any intelligent gardener can tell me that the +top of a sunny wall is far too hot for a fuschia. +Certainly; and of course it is—especially in +August. Yet some misguided person had one +planted there—just where the wall has a break +in it, and a flight of steps leads down to the next +level. It is the lovely old-fashioned bush sort, +smothered with slender drooping blossoms; and +it reaches out long arms that arch right over the +steps, and as you go down, unless you lower +your head, you set a-tinkling scores of crimson +bells with rich blue-purple centres.</p> + +<p>And people who understand all about fuchsias +glare at it severely, and then at me, and remark, +“A most unsuitable position!”</p> + +<p>And where nothing else in particular is +making any sort of a show, the ubiquitous Herb +Robert spreads itself about, on the top of the +walls, or roots in crevices down the sides—it +isn’t particular where; so long as there are stones +that need clothing with loveliness, there you will +find it, laying its crimson leaves with a lacy +airiness over the stern surface of the rock.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span></p> + +<p>The very scents of the garden are hot and +pungent, as one rubs against thyme and marjoram, +or the great sage bush that smothers one +wall. The trees of sweet bay were cut in the +morning; the rosemary bushes had to be trimmed +where their branches were lying on the ground; +someone has stepped on pieces in passing.</p> + +<p>All day long the heat strikes down on the +parched, cracking earth, baking the stones, +shrivelling up any fern fronds that chance to +catch its direct rays, drying up the little brook, +and testing the powers of endurance of the +scarlets and yellows, orange and reds, that are +flaunting themselves in the face of the sun.</p> + +<p>To sit out of doors is only possible beneath +the firs and larches, in the green shade by the +wood house, where the sun never penetrates; and +even here it makes one warm to watch the glare +beyond the thicket of trees, the hot air quivering, +nothing but butterflies and dragon flies about, +and nought to break a breathless silence but +the twitter of the tits, grub-hunting in the +larches, and the perpetual hum of uncountable +insects, who seem to find no heat too great.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>But presently the shadows of the pines begin +to lengthen, and in the shade thrown by the +larches along the meadow side blackbirds are +seen making short runs along the ground on +foraging expeditions. Chaffinches, tits, linnets,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span> +and bullfinches come out from green hiding +places and go down to the birds’ bath to drink.</p> + +<p>Longer grow the shadows, the swallows rise +and take high curving sweeps in the upper air—wonderful +little aeronauts whom no man has +trained.</p> + +<p>As the sun touches the top of the opposite +hills a breeze wakes up the birch wood, whispering +that the sunset will soon be here, and the +leaves start talking about the stifling heat that +so exhausted them through the day.</p> + +<p>The sun drops lower behind the hill; rabbits +peep out from beneath the brambles, then make +for the hummocky field that adjoins my cabbages, +the field where the big oaks stretch wide arms +over soft, green, luscious grass—Offa’s Oaks we +have named these ancient giants, because they +border Offa’s Dyke; and they have so often +described to the more youthful birch trees the +time when they saw Offa, King of Mercia, come +marching past in 765 <small>A.D.</small>, that at length they +have actually come to believe they were alive +and flourishing in his day! We humour their +age by pretending that it was so.</p> + +<p>At last the sun disappears, flaming to the +last in crimson and gold, orange and red. The +breeze gets lustier after the sun has gone under, +and a squirrel comes scampering head first down +a tall fir-tree, in search of a delicious toadstool +that he sometimes finds at its base. Pheasants<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span> +strut up out of the coppice, and roam about the +pasture.</p> + +<p>Imperceptibly, you know not whence it +comes, there steals over the earth the cool, refreshing +scent of dew-drenched bracken, mingling +with the sweet wistful evening incense of some +late honeysuckle.</p> + +<p>And as you watch the fading after-glow of +pink and saffron, sea-green and tawny-rose, you +sense that in some mysterious way the face of +the garden has entirely changed. Gone is the +fire of the scarlet geraniums; lost is the vermilion +of the nasturtiums; even the sunflowers +hang their heads, and the hollyhocks have turned +off their lights. The marigolds have closed their +eyes, and the eschscholtzias have folded up their +brave flowers, the tired little heads bowing over, +thankful for this respite.</p> + +<p>Then, as the montbretias toll the Angelus +from crowds of golden throated bells, the evening +primroses, silently, gratefully, open a thousand +blossoms and bathe the garden in a wondrous +gleam.</p> + +<p>Such a clear, clean yellow it is; so quiet and +yet so penetrating; it seems in some strange +way to hold the radiance of heaven and focus it +on the sleeping Flower-patch, subduing all that +would strike a glaring note, hiding the ragged +deficiencies of fading leaves and withering seed-pods.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span></p> + +<p>By day one scarcely noticed the straggling +plants at all, save perhaps to remark on their +rather shabby appearance. But now they shine +from terraces and wall-tops; from crannies in +the rough stone steps they send up tall shafts, +bearing aloft their evening lamps; about the +garden beds, among the currant bushes, at the +edge of the gravel walk, between the stones in +the paved path, wherever they can find root-room, +they have taken hold—for they were ever +wanderers, and given to exploring the farthermost +corner of any garden wherein they have +made themselves at home.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The last rose-pink flush has faded from the +clouds; not even a sleepy twitter is heard from +bush or bough; the wind soughs softly in the +pine-trees, those harps of endless strings. From +out her hidden stores of abundance, Nature +has given moisture to the grass, refreshment to +the fainting foxglove leaves, and damped the +forest fern. Then, breathing quiet on a weary +world, has bidden it take rest.</p> + +<p>Yet all are not asleep. Standing like +sentinels through the darkest hours of night, the +evening primroses, adding scent to scent, flood +the garden from end to end with a veritable +glory of swaying, gleaming moon-gold.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<div class="chapter"></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>XVII<br /> + +<small>The Carillon of the +Wilds</small></h2> + + +<p class="unindent"><span class="smcap">Of</span> all the host of alluring things that make for +themselves homes on our hillside, one of the +most lovely is the foxglove. Yet there is no +blatancy about its beauty, nor a great blaze of +light as when the ox-eye daisies wave over the +fields in June.</p> + +<p>There is something more subtle than even +its colouring that attracts one to this flower, for +there is mind-rest, there is balm for anxious +hearts, there is new hope and new courage, with +whispers of happiness, in the depths of a foxglove +bell.</p> + +<p>If you doubt this, go on a foxglove quest; +leave everything bearing the hall-mark of +advanced up-to-dateness far behind you—though +I’ve nothing to say against the train that takes +you away from towns to the place where the +foxgloves grow! Forget all the regulation ways +of enjoying yourself, and search out the haunts +of the carillon of the wilds.</p> + +<p>You will find them on the shady sides of the +hedges, their spikes of bells pushing up through +hawthorn and sloe, through the tangle of bramble<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span> +and bryony, cleavers and dog rose that scramble +over the pollarded nut-bushes, beeches, elm-stumps, +and ash-boles, amid all the dear delights +that go to make that poem of loveliness—an +English hedgerow.</p> + +<p>You will also find them in little hollows and +dells, in small ravines and in craggy places—in +any spot where they can get a little moisture for +the roots and occasional sunshine for the flowers, +with a certain amount of immunity from the +devastating hand of the human marauder. Give +them but a ghost of a chance to seed themselves +(though this is what the greedy flower-gatherer +invariably denies them), and they will spread with +great rapidity, and paint the face of nature with +a rich glowing carmine that almost makes you +hold your breath when first you see the broad +sweeps of colour on certain hillsides in mid-June.</p> + +<p>When you have found them, in any of their +haunts, lift one of the bells and look right into +it, delighting in the splashes and markings, the +fine filaments and the silken texture, the pink +and purple and crimson, the dark brown and +white, the poise of the stalk, the droop of the +bells, the balance that the leaf-arrangement gives +to the whole plant, and the many other characteristics +that go to make up one of the most +exquisite of nature’s products.</p> + +<p>The trouble is that in sparse soil, or in wind-swept +places, the plant does not grow so tall as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span> +in a protected and secluded spot. Hence when +we meet it in the open, its bells hang downwards +below the eye-line, and we do not often remember +to stoop and lift one, to see what +message the bee left for us. Perhaps that is one +reason why it seems to me that, while sunflowers +and hollyhocks spend their days in gazing +after grown-ups, foxgloves are for ever nodding +smilingly and encouragingly to little children.</p> + +<p>To those who are accustomed to agricultural +scenery, where the landscape shows far expanses +of pasture-land and cornfields, with wide spreading +low-roofed farms clustered around with barns +and ricks, our hills come as a surprise with their +uneven surfaces, and the scarcity of soil in comparison +with the superabundance of rock.</p> + +<p>And even taking into consideration all the +cleared spaces and small farms, the outstanding +feature of the country, so far as the eye can see, +is timber. This is a region of woods and +coppices, with springs that bubble up at the +roots of sturdy trees, protected by their thick +leafage from the onslaughts of the sun. This is +a land of dim grey-green mystery, of silences +that make one tread with reverent awe till one +is brought back to earth, by the ring of the +woodman’s axe, the leisurely song of his saw, +and the crish-crash of a tree as it falls.</p> + +<p>In the course of time, the woods have to be +cut; some are cut every fourteen years; others<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span> +are left much longer; it all depends on the kind +of tree and the purpose for which it is being +grown.</p> + +<p>But though the woods are cut periodically, it +is not so devastating a process as one might +imagine. For one thing, it is clean work; for +another, it is surface work; and then it is all +done in the open air, with hand-tools and no +machinery, and it is carried out on nature’s own +lines. Hence there is no underground disturbance +that would prevent further growth, +and no smoke of power-driven machinery pollutes +the earth and air.</p> + +<p>Yet there would be something very pathetic +about the felling of the trees, as you walk over +ground that has been cut, were it not for the +magical display of beauty nature puts forth in +such circumstances, multitudes of flowers springing +into being that otherwise would not have +come to birth.</p> + +<p>At first you see but the prostrate trunks of +the trees, with ivy still clinging to the bark; +there they lie, with branches lopped, each surrounded +by piles of small timber cut into regulation +lengths for various commercial purposes; +with “cords” of faggots for firing, and stacks +of stuff for pea sticks and similar purposes.</p> + +<p>Yet you are not long wandering over the +newly-cleared slopes before you see things that +were not evident before.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span></p> + +<p>In winter you discover a red-gold carpet—too +golden to be brown, too brown to be red—where +lie the leaves of the beeches that you +never noticed when the trees were standing.</p> + +<p>Then, as spring breathes life into the sleeping +earth, the dead leaves stir, silently, mysteriously, +no human ear can detect the rustle, no human +eye can see the movement, yet the leaves lift +and move apart, disclosing the yellow and green, +and silvery-pink of the primrose buds.</p> + +<p>Still further the dead leaves lift, and the violets +look out, and then run all over the place. The +wind-flowers push up next, and before you +realize what has happened, the place is literally +dancing with them. Where did they all come +from?</p> + +<p>Last spring you went through this very wood +and saw only a few scattered about at wide +distances, where there chanced to be a filter of +light through the dense branches overhead. +Now the place is an open air ball-room of +curtesying sprites.</p> + +<p>Such are the wonderful ways of the woods!</p> + +<p>In sheltered spots where the cold winds +cannot reach, cushions of wood-sorrel unfurl +their pale-green leaves, and then send up, +cautiously and shyly, the fragile bells that look +as though a breath would blow them away. +The woodruff also sets to work, for there must +be beauty of odour as well as beauty of colour<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span> +and form, and something will be needed to take +the place of the violets when they go.</p> + +<p>By this time the bluebells are ready to come +out; but there is no shyness about these, sturdy +in their growth, no obstacle seems to hinder +them; up come the green spears, making their +own way through dead leaves and twigs and +moss and acorn cup, through thickets of low-lying +bramble, through carpets of close-growing +ivy; if a dead branch or a tree trunk lies in their +way, they peep out at one side, “Is there a +trifle of daylight here?” And up they come, +carpeting with blue the open spaces between the +huge masses of rock that lie pell-mell about the +surface; while the humble little ground-ivy lays +cool green fingers, and a little later its violet-blue +flowers, over the cream and silver of the +birches, the soft grey of the beeches, and the +rough bark of the oaks, where the felled trunks +lie among the up-springing grass, sensing for the +last time the coming of spring and summer on +the hillside.</p> + +<p>Then it is, when the bluebells have turned to +papery seed-pods, and the primroses have paled +away into space, that the foxgloves begin to +shake out their flowers and the hillside glows and +palpitates with colour. They flourish with a +joyous abandon that is positively infectious, and +makes one feel there is still much left to live for. +The way they suddenly appear when the trees are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span> +down—whole battalions of them—where only a +season before there were regiments of larches, or +thick woods of mixed timber, is really marvellous. +Undoubtedly the ground must be packed with +seed; more than this, there must always be +young seedlings coming up among the undergrowth +or in sheltered crevices where the larch +needles do not penetrate; for no sooner are the +trees cut than foxgloves start to spread their +leaves to the light, and by the following summer, +often before half the timber has been carried, +you find them by the thousand—and that is a +very low estimate—dotted all over the rough +land, and, with a host of ferns, trying to cover +up all that is maimed, and bare, and jagged, to +hide the scars where the mighty have fallen, to +give beauty for ashes in a very literal sense.</p> + +<p>Moreover, there seems an almost uncanny +intelligence in the way they adapt themselves to +their environment. You would think they knew +that the winds from the far-off Channel blow +strong at times, across these high open spaces; +for you find that they invariably place themselves +in the shelter of a big boulder, or settle +down in a little hollow with a protecting flank +of rockery, evidently conscious that their tall +stems would be lashed down flat if exposed to +the full force of the wind. Or you find them +growing, it may be, at the foot of a crumbling +gate post, or against an ivy-covered rock, or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span> +rows of them nestling close up to a lichen-covered +stone wall; and in this way their beauty +is enhanced by the background.</p> + +<p>And when they find themselves in an uncongenial +setting—springing up in the very centre +of a woodland path perhaps, or out in the open +where the woodmen have been lopping the +branches from a felled tree, and there is much +devastation to be covered over and atoned for—there +the foxglove lays its leaves as flat as +possible against the earth, so as to offer the least +inducement to the passer-by to injure it. And +though it still sends up its flowers as bravely as +it knows how, they are only a foot high, not the +five and six feet of the foxglove in the shelter. +Yet if it be possible, in the least bit possible, it +leans against the pile of faggots, or gently touches +the desolate trunk of what was once a majestic +old tree—and who dare say that the silent companionship +counts for nothing?</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>As I write this, in a year of the Awful War, +there are some who would tell me that foxgloves +will not find the people in food; while others +see no value in the larches apart from their +service as mine-props.</p> + +<p>Yet, while I would not under-estimate the +utilitarian worth of crops and timber, the age-old +truth is still insistent: Man cannot live by +bread alone.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span></p> + +<p>You may clear from the surface of the land +every plant that is not edible; you may fell +every tree that does not serve for telegraph pole +or pit wood; you may tabulate the food-productive +qualities of the whole earth, and serve it +out in a blue-book as literature for the people; +you may manufacture electricity till there is no +longer any night, and the mysteries of the twilight +and the moonlight and the starlight are lost +to us for ever; you may destroy the birds till +there isn’t one Glad-song left in the caterpillar-riddled +orchards and gardens; you may harness +the rivers and streams for mechanical purposes, +and drown the voices of the weir in the whirr of +wheels, till there isn’t an ounce of energy flowing +to waste throughout the length and breadth of +the country; you may turn all Nature into a +huge commercial enterprise that is the last word +in economics and efficient organization—and +what will be the result?</p> + +<p>Machines in place of souls!</p> + +<p>Germany strove to subserve everything to +her own materialistic ends, and the price of her +hideous and colossal crime is a world’s agony.</p> + +<p>Though this may seem but a parable, to some +the reading will be clear: Where there is no +vision, the people perish.</p> + +<hr class="full" /> +<div class="tnote"><div class="center"> +<b>Transcriber’s Notes:</b></div> + +<p>Obvious punctuation errors repaired.</p> + +<p>Page 112, “contribubution” changed to “contribution” (own literary contribution)</p> + +<p>Page 167, “away” changed to “way” (my way round)</p> + +<p>Page 178, “seach” changed to “search” (in search of you)</p> + +<p>Page 200, “aromati” changed to “aromatic” (its aromatic leaves)</p> + +<p>Page 244, “bric” changed to “brac” of “bric-à-brac”</p> +</div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Between the Larch-woods and the Weir, by +Flora Klickmann + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BETWEEN LARCH-WOODS AND WEIR *** + +***** This file should be named 51601-h.htm or 51601-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/6/0/51601/ + +Produced by Emmy, MFR and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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