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diff --git a/old/51601-0.txt b/old/51601-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 0f13148..0000000 --- a/old/51601-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7900 +0,0 @@ -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) - - - - - - - -[Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and -italic text is surrounded by _underscores_.] - - - - - -Between the Larch-woods and the Weir - - By - FLORA KLICKMANN - Editor of - “The Girl’s Own Paper and Woman’s Magazine” - Author of - “The Flower-Patch among the Hills” - -[Illustration] - - NEW YORK - Frederick A. Stokes Company - Publishers - - - - - Dedicated to - the Memory - of Arthur, - Bertie, and - Wilfrid—my - Brothers - - - - - Move along these shades - In gentleness of heart; . . . - . . . for there is a spirit in the woods. - - - - -I - -Preamble - - -ON 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. - -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. - -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. - -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 ranks of -the larch-woods that revel in the heights, and give the hills a jagged -edge against the sky. - -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. - -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 Chepstow to Ross in exactly thirty minutes! Small wonder -that such as these never see that weather-worn cottage, half-hidden -among the green. - - * * * * * - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 into smiles at intervals where -the blackthorn has come out. - -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. - -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. - -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. - - * * * * * - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - - - - -II - -Enter Eileen - - -I HAVE 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! - -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. - -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 _entirely_ wasting my time!” - -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 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. - -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. - -Mrs. Widow wrote regularly every month, and this is the type of letter -she always sent:— - - “Dear Mam. i hope your well, my newralger has been - cruell bad but it is Better now. 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. - - Yours - MRS WIDOW.” - -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. - -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 -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! - -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. - -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. - -There was one exception though—a boy at Dulwich, who was notorious for -his adhesion to 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. - -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 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. - -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 -_her_ furs; the nuisance is that no one else can come near them either. - -Then there is the educational lady, who runs a serial story on the -iniquities of our educational methods. “The whole system is wrong, -abso-_lute_-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. - -But my greatest bugbear is the inquisitorial lady—generally eulogized -by the Vicar, when he is stuck fast for an adjective, as “_very_ -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -Of course I wasn’t surprised when she began, with her second mouthful, -“By the way, dear, I’ve _such_ a distressing case I’m needing a little -help for; really quite _heart_-breaking.” - -I’d heard it all before, and instantly decided 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 _how_ rheumaticky the heartbreak might be. - -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 _most_ 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. - -The girl’s biographical data included: a 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. - -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! - - * * * * * - -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—— - -On my writing table there stood a bowl of 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, _how_ 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. - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. _That_ was the thing that appealed to her; and -she looked at me with open-eyed amazement when I told her that the -snowdrops grew wild in the orchard there. - -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. - -And she and her grandmother looked and smiled at each other with some -new bond of sympathy. - -Heredity will out! - -“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. - -“Yes, grandmother,” she replied, dropping back into an attitude of meek -dejection. “Of course I’ll do my _very_ best.” - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - - * * * * * - -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. - -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. - -She came, with pursed lips. - -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! - -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.—— - -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.—— - -Only, there was one point on which she would be glad of a clear -understanding before she went: _was she expected to wait on that young -person?_ - -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. - -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. - -“Oh, I could do _everything_,” 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.” - -“_Miss_ 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.” - -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. - -Nevertheless, I didn’t go the following week, as I had planned. - - - - -III - -“You Never Know” - - -Life is full of surprises. - -Virginia has always maintained that the motto of my house ought to be -“YOU NEVER KNOW,” simply because of the rapidity with which I change -my mind, and the complications and unexpected developments that follow -thereupon. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -“May I ask why you have that above the mantelpiece?” he inquired -politely. - -“Oh, it’s merely the family motto,” I answered airily, “but we have it -in Chinese to-night, in your honour.” - -“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. - -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. - -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.’” - - * * * * * - -Truly, you never know! - -Work was extra heavy in my office that week. Like every other business -house, we 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. - -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. - -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. - -“_Well_, 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. - -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. - -Virginia and Ursula, who live near me in 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. - -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 I had made of it, when I surveyed it from below. - -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. - -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.” - -Naturally, I was humiliated and effectually silenced. - -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. - -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! - -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 _good_ job of it. - -Then I sent a note to Eileen, asking her kindly to postpone packing -for a few days, as I was unavoidably detained in town. - -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. - -It was a fortnight before that roof was finished. Finally they left. -And the kitchen staff grew pensive. - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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, -but the Boss was coming round to see me shortly. - -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 _that_!—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 _he_ put underground. - -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.” - -And they did. - -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 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. - -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. - -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 could not think; but, -at any rate, out it would have to come again. - -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. - -Two years ago! he exclaimed, why, _that_ 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 _you_ are, ma’am.” Evidently he -could think of no more hopelessly incapable specimen of humanity. - -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). - -As I didn’t seem to be left much choice in the matter, and I wasn’t -sure whether, if I left it 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, _to turn on my water again_. - -(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.) - -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; _ground_ -there was none.) - -He congratulated me on having been let off 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.” - -I didn’t respond to the hint. - -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 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. - -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. - -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 -_dry_ 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. - -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 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. - -He became silent, and I left him meditating, while I went down to see -Virginia, who had come in. - -“Ursula and I have been making plans for you,” she began, “as you seem -too distracted to make any for yourself.” - -“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!” - -“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 down the centre in front, -is just at your right hand. Now when a woman puts on her clothes like -_that_, 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.” - -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. - -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! - - - - -IV - -The Hill-Side Trail - - -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? - -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. - -When Eileen had cleared her first helping, she merely gazed at me with -a seraphic smile, still clutching her knife and fork. I asked if she -would like any more? - -“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. - -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?” - -I nodded. - -“Then I _will_ have some more, thank you,” and she heaved a sigh of -deep contentment. - -Perhaps it was as well Abigail didn’t come! - - * * * * * - -The drive from the station to my cottage seemed to be through one long -vista of sweet odours. - -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. - -As we left the river bank and started the 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. - -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. - -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. - -It is noticeable that while the scents of autumn are often strong and -bitter, the scents of spring are usually delicate and sweet. - - * * * * * - -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. - -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). - -If you live in clean fresh air, however, you know the seasons by their -odours, and it is possible to distinguish with absolute certainty 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. - -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. - - * * * * * - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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! - -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. - -The commandment is to take no _anxious_ thought for the morrow; there -is nothing said against looking ahead for happiness. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -One dimly understands how impossible was the task St. John set himself -when he tried to describe the glimpse that was permitted him of 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. - -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.” - - * * * * * - -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, -assuredly finds comfort in the reminder of the Resurrection that Nature -whispers wheresoever we may turn. - -It is no mere haphazard chance that Easter falls about the time of the -blossoming of the bare blackthorn bough. - - * * * * * - -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 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. - -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! - -Even then, one has not gone to the root of the matter. Many of these -cottages are the 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. - -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. - - * * * * * - -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. - -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. - -The sun was dropping behind the larches that ridged the opposite -hills. Birds everywhere were explaining to each other that they -must—they really _must_—set about house-hunting the very first thing in -the morning. - -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. - -“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.” - - * * * * * - -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. - -“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 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. - -“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! - -“And then, when he had said everything that could possibly be said -about each man standing there, and about water and pipes and 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. - -“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. - -“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.” - - - - -V - -Just Outside the Back-Door - - -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? - -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 _do_ the things get there? How do they plant themselves? Isn’t it -marvellous this unending gardening of Nature! - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -At the other side is a yellow jasmine, evidently a stray from the -garden. - -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. - -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. - -Large ferns send up giant fronds to make cool shadows at one end. Tiny -ferns busy themselves with the decoration of odd corners. A 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. - -In a month or six weeks the old trees in the orchard behind will be -like bouquets of pink and white blossoms. - -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. - -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. - -The birds are fond of this grotto, and other 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! - -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. - -A squirrel is very attached to this part of 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. - -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. - -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. - - - - -VI - -Dwellers in the Flower-Patch - - -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. - -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. - -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! - -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 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.” - -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. - -“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. - -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. - -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. - -“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?” - -And so the hubbub continues, while the 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. - - * * * * * - -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. - -This may need explanation. - -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 -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. - -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. - -In war-time the birds just have to take what they can get. - -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! - -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. - - * * * * * - -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 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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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! - -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. - -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. - -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 with the decorative -branches, that he had the fright of his life, and never repeated the -adventure. - -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 _two_ -pears, Tommy! Take _two_ pears, Tommy!—_do!_” 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). - -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. - - * * * * * - -Of all the bird family, however, I think the coal-tits are our -favourites—and there are _such_ a 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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - - * * * * * - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -So one day I put some food on the table 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! - -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. - -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! - - * * * * * - -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, -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. - -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. - -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! - -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 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. - -At last I decided it was useless to watch any longer, for his eyelids -had never so much as flickered. - -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. - -Don’t ask me to explain; I am only telling you what happened under my -own eyes. - - * * * * * - -Yes, robin _père_ 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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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? - -Robin doesn’t encourage you in daydreams, however, he means business; -and once he sees 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 _that_ the best -worm you can offer a gentleman? Pouf!” - -He eats it nevertheless. - -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. - - * * * * * - -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!” - -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 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. - -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.) - -They chose it with much circumspection—Martha 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). - -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. - -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! - -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. - -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. - -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). - -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. - -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. - -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. - -Then an unusual silence fell over the garden; the majority of the birds -having joined the crowd of pursuers. It is strange how we all bury our -hatchets in face of a common danger! - -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! - -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. - -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. - -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. - -At last we had to go in, because it was 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. - -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! - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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! - -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 bird’s bath, and splashed joyously till its expostulating parents -returned, alarmed out of their senses lest it should be drowned! - - * * * * * - -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. - -It is a clear-blue message of hope, as it rings out on a cold winter’s -day. - -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!” - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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? - -Who knows what that subdued but exquisite little song means, as it -falls, like a rain of soft, gentle sounds from the branches above? - -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. - - - - -VII - -Only Small Talk - - -I SEEM to have wandered a long way from Eileen, but it was really she -who brought the birds to my mind. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -I explained. - -“Wild, is he? _Wild?_” she exclaimed; “and don’t they charge you -nothing for them?” - -She finished the room with one eye perpetually on the windows. - -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. - -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! - -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.” - -But she looked at me doubtfully. “We didn’t ever have _poached_ eggs at -the boarding-house,” 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?” - -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 _en -bloc_, 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. - -I trust I bore the disappointment complacently. I’m fairly hardened to -such sudden drops in the kitchen thermometer. - -The great thing about Eileen was her willingness, and her anxiety to -learn. - -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:— - -“When you make the tea or coffee, be sure that the water is _quite_ -boiling; or else——” - -“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.” - -“Really! Well, now we’ll fry some bacon. You put a little of the bacon -fat from this jar into the pan first of all to get hot. Like this.” - -“Yes, ma’am. Isn’t it strange, grandmother won’t never have red roses -in her bonnet. Can’t bear red.” - -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. - -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.” - -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? - -“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!” - -Eileen looked incredulous. - -“Yes, by the thousand they was, and not 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. - -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_d._ a quart, and milk was only 6_d._ You would then make a penny a -quart profit that you could put into the Savings Bank to help the War. - -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?” - -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?” - -“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? . . . _Never?_ 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?” - - * * * * * - -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?” - -I felt such an apologetic cannibal as I explained! - -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! - - * * * * * - -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. - -“What is your name?” I asked, by way of starting conversation. - -“Victorine,” the forlorn-looking little thing replied. - -“And what is your lesson about?” I then inquired. - -“Therdelfykorrickul,” she informed me. - -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.” - -Victorine understood what “speak slowly” meant, and so she said very -deliberately, “The—Delphic—Horricul.” - -“So you are learning about the Delphic Oracle. And what are you going -to do when you grow up?” was my next query. - -“I’m going to work in the laundry like muvver!” - -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.” - -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 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.” - -The head mistress shook her head. “That would not be practical; you -see, it isn’t in the Syllabus.” - -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? - -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. - -“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 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. - -True! She didn’t! - -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. - -For a time, the questions ceased. - - - - -VIII - -A Cold Snap - - -FOR 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. - -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. - -One of the many reasons for the charm that envelops our life at the -hillside cottage lies in 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. - -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? - -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. - -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 of -result that we receive); and it is small wonder that so few of us can -work up any interest in the process. - -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. - - * * * * * - -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. - -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 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.” - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -“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! - -With spring and summer immediately before us, as it seemed, we decided -to leave the 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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? - -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. - - * * * * * - -Though the sun had been so bright when we started, it doesn’t do to -trust too much in an 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. - -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. - -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). - - * * * * * - -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 _her_ -work. Of course we asked: What work? - -She informed us that she was engaged upon 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, _in extenso_, from every point of view but Shakespeare’s. -Hence, her present literary effort. - -And would I kindly give her any quotations I could think of, that had -any bearing on this world-crisis. - -All my brain was equal to was— - - “Tell me, where is fancy bred?” - -which undoubtedly indicated that the War Loaf was known to pall on the -public taste even in Shakespeare’s time. - -She said she had expected me to say that, it was so obvious. -Nevertheless, I noticed she hurriedly jotted it down. - -We asked her to read her MS. so far as she had gone; it seemed a pity -for us to overlap. - -“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— - - ‘She riseth also while it is yet night, and giveth meat - to her household’ - -—anyone can see Daylight Saving there——” - -Naturally, I opened my mouth to speak, but she cut me short, testily: - -“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), - - ‘The upper air burst into life! - And a hundred fire-flags’ sheen, - To and fro they were hurried about! - And to and fro, and in and out, - The wan stars danced between.’ - -“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!” - -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. - -So I took Virginia’s MS. and read it down. - - “How full of briars is this working-day world.” - - This proves that barbed wire entanglements were known - in the seventeenth century. - - “How far that little candle throws his beams!” - - This indicates clearly that Shakespeare was fined for - failing to comply with the Lighting Restrictions. - - That he was compelled to pay War Profits out of the - “royalties” on his plays is evidenced by these poignant - words in _Macbeth_:— - - “Nought’s had, all’s spent,” - - and doubtless there was a subtle reference to War - taxation in - - “Age cannot wither nor custom stale her infinite - variety.” - - 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 - - “Sweet are the uses of adversity,” - - and can anyone doubt that - - “Double, double, toil and trouble, - Fire burn and cauldron bubble,” - - points to meatless days? - -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. - -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. - -I was all attention. - -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. - -I glanced it over as intelligently as I knew how, and then inquired -what it was. - -“It’s a pyjama for a soldier,” she murmured 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 _sure_ to know.” - -“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?” - -“The other leg?” she echoed, “there was only one in the pattern.” - -“Of course; but you should have cut it out in double material; the -garment requires two legs, you know.” - -“Does it!” she exclaimed in genuine surprise. “Why, I thought it must -be intended for a soldier who had had his other leg amputated!” - - * * * * * - -Before Virginia put away her “Anthology,” preparatory to having lunch, -she added another quotation to her list— - - “For never anything can be amiss - When simpleness and duty tender it,” - -and against this she scribbled, “one-legged pyjamas”—doubtless for -elucidation and amplification at a later date. I hope I haven’t -forestalled her. - - - - -IX - -Snowdrifts - - -IT 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -“Where did you get it from?” I asked rather absently, as I went on with -my work. - -“From one of the magazines you are supposed to edit,” she said blandly. - -“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. - -“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?” - -We said we saw it quite plainly. - -“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 _that_ was -interesting enough! But now I find this last scallop has _turned a -corner_. Funny, isn’t it?” - -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. - -“That will be a valuable piece of lace by the time it’s finished,” I -said. “What are you going to do with it?” - -“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.” - -“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. - -“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 Ursula -absorbed in that outfit that no masculine infant anywhere would -recognise——” - -“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.” - -“—and _you_ sit hour after hour reading MSS. What are they all about? -What’s that one in your hand, for instance?” - -“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——” - -“Anonymous letters are so futile.” - -“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!” - -Virginia merely snorted. “What’s the next MS. about?” - -“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——’” - -Virginia said she’d skip the rest, please, and wasn’t there a little -light fiction anywhere in the chaos before me? - -“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——” - -“What spell?” inquired Ursula. - -“(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.” - -“Then it wasn’t one of _this_ 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?” - -(“No, that is not stated.)—She used to spend 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.” - -“What Prince?” inquired the interrupter again. - -“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!” - -“Then I’d just as soon go for a walk as hear any more,” she said with -decision. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -I once remarked to a local resident that I found our stony hillside -roads a bit trying, to say nothing of the side paths. - -“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 _hake_ 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 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.” - -For myself, however, I sometimes think I would prefer the said rocks -and stones if they were boiled a bit, and then mangled. - - * * * * * - -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. - -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. - -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. - - * * * * * - -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—_diminuendo_—it passes on and is -finally lost in the far distance. - -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, more especially when -the trees are bare and extremely vibrant. - -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! - -“How dark it is getting!” exclaimed Ursula. “Where is your moon? And -just hear the wind coming up the valley!” - -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 -over the upper regions, crashing and smashing as it goes. - -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. - -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. - -“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. - -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, 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. - -In this way we tumbled on for about half an hour. Just as Virginia was -confiding to me—_fortissimo_ 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. - -By way of keeping up our spirits, Ursula began to chant, to some -lilting, sprightly tune, that most lugubrious poem, “Lucy Gray.” - - “The storm came up before its time, - She wandered up and down; - And many a hill did Lucy climb, - But never reached the town.” - -When she got to the verse— - - “They followed from the snowy bank - Those footmarks, one by one, - Into the middle of the plank, - And farther there were none!”— - -Virginia exclaimed, “For mercy sake, if you _must_ 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.” - -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. - -Then Eileen’s voice within— - -“Are you quite by yourselves? Has the wolf gone?” - -“Open the door at once, and don’t talk nonsense,” I said firmly, trying -not to sound as irritated as I felt. - -“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.” - -Evidently _our_ 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!” - -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.” - -I understood the situation immediately. “Eileen,” I said severely, -“what have you been reading?” - -“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——” - -“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— - -“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 -_so_ nice with them.” - -All of which goes to illustrate the risk one runs in sending MSS. to -editors, more especially to feminine editors possessed of kitchens. - - * * * * * - -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. - -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 _hark_ at the wind! _What_ 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. - -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. - -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! “_Now_ I know what it’s like to be the Queen!” she exclaimed. - -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 down the window curtain, evidently under the impression -that he was in for a sultry summer. - - * * * * * - -For some time we sat and watched the splendour of it all. - -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. - - * * * * * - -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 _they_ lying this bitter night? - -Physical sense becomes numbed when one lives perpetually in the shadow -of possible tragedy. - - * * * * * - -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 -crystal, but the sky still looked leaden in the north. - -Eileen, bringing the morning tea, imparted the thrilling intelligence -that the snow was several feet deep outside the doors, the outhouses -inaccessible. - -“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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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.” - -“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.” - -“But where is the big iron shovel?” I asked. - -“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! - -We each shovelled up a mass (most of it 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 _was_ a problem. - -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! - -We looked at it in absolute despair. - -“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.” - -But no man obligingly hove in response! - - - - -X - -Footprints - - -THE 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. - -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. - -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. 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, _viâ_ the roof and the ladder and the bedroom window, to the -bosom of the family. - -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. - -“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. - -“And to think how I’ve always prided myself on going away from home -prepared for _every_ 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.” - -“It has shown _me_ 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!” - -We certainly did ache. And only those who 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. - - * * * * * - -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 -what question comes wafted over each time the guns send out their -deadly roll. - -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. - -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, _The Country of the Pointed Firs_. I dare say it was -selfish to think of being _quite_ 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 from the mainland, and -somewhere around the British Isles, of course. - -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. - -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. - -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 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 _her_ books! - -Ursula isn’t much better; but at least she is more practical, and -believes in spring cleaning; hence, in _her_ 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 -“_most_ important books” that never can be found after one of Ursula’s -domestic upheavals. - -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. - -Vehement protests! - -Then I suggested, to prove my words, that we should each start to -make out a list of the books we couldn’t possibly do without on The -Island—_only_ 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.” - -Forthwith, we each scribbled down our first ten _absolutely -indispensable_ books (they were to be exclusive of religious and -devotional works). When we compared notes in a few minutes’ time, these -were our lists:— - - -VIRGINIA. - - Encyclopædia. - A Dictionary. - Jane Austen’s Novels. - “The Shepherd of Salisbury Plain.” - A Time Table. - Franklin’s “Voyages.” - “Punch” (regularly). - A good Atlas. - “The Spectator” (regularly). - “A Child’s Garden of Verse.” R. L. Stevenson. - - -URSULA. - - A good Guide to London. - A large selection of Needlework and Crochet Books. - My old Scrapbook. - Mudie’s Catalogue. - An Almanac giving the changes of the moon. - “The Old Red Sandstone.” Hugh Miller. - The Stores Price List. - Mrs. Hemans’ Poems. - The Scottish Student’s Song Book. - Kipling’s “Kim.” - - -SELF. - - All Ruskin’s Works. - “The Wide, Wide World.” - “The Country of the Pointed Firs.” S. O. Jewett. - All my Gardening Books and Florists’ Seed Catalogues. - All my Wild Flower Books. - “A Little Book of Western Verse.” Eugene Field. - Poems by Ann and Jane Taylor. - All my Cookery Books. - All the Board of Agriculture’s Leaflets. - A Book on Deer Culture. - -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? - -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? - -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! - -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 _when_ you might be summoned to anyone’s funeral in a hurry, and -was she supposed to be cut off from _all_ 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? - -“Yes, who would dream of carting around a Mrs. Hemans in these days?” I -scoffed. - -“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?” - -“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!” - -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. - -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. - -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 -with our discussions indoors, we had not heard him till he reached the -porch. - -“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.” - -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 _only one loaf in the -house_! 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! - -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 _we_ 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 _we_ 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——” - -“And well you might blush,” edged in Virginia, “remembering how you -selfishly stuck to the only decent shovel there was, with never so -much as an offer to either of us to have a turn.” - -“—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. - -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 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! - -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 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. - -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! - -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! - -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 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? - -“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_ 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?” - -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. - -“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 great packages of things are sent down daily. “Is there -anything I can take back with me?” he inquired. - -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— - -“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! - -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. - -“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.” - -“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.” - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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 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.) - -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. - -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. - -And much more to the same effect. - - * * * * * - -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 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. - -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 a prosperous man would knock at my door, bearing in his -hand half-a-crown, etc. - -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. - -Meanwhile the man was scraping away downstairs, and we did not know but -what he would be in upon us any moment. - -“Shall we let the dog loose?” said Virginia. - -“The dog!” I repeated. “Why, where _is_ 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. - -“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 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. - -“What _do_ you usually do when burglars come?” whispered Virginia. - -“I don’t know. I’ve never had one before,” I moaned. - -“Didn’t you once tell me you had a bell, or something of the sort?” -said Ursula. - -“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.” - -“Let’s ring it now,” said Virginia eagerly, “and then, when he is well -_outside_ the gate, of course, we’ll let the dog run out after him.” - -“Yes,” I agreed. “But first I want to go into Eileen’s room, and peep -out of her window and see _who_ is below. Her window is just over the -scullery door, and is always open at night. If it is anyone from the -district—though I don’t believe it is—I should recognise him.” - -So we tip-toed into Eileen’s room, where she lay sound asleep. - -“When I give the signal, you ring,” I said. - -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. - -“Don’t ring the bell!” I whispered hoarsely, and we crept out of the -room. - -“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 _this_ episode being related all day long at the kitchen -door!” - - * * * * * - -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 -_perished_ with the cold,” and then someone 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? - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 gave -in; why only the very day——!”; or, “Ah! how often have I seen the poor -dear——!” etc. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -Having got well smothered to start with, I 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. - -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. - -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 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.” - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - - * * * * * - -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. - -Turning round, I saw the small white dog, shaking himself out of the -mass—and such a dingy-dirty object his _passé_ 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 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! - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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!” - -“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 three sticks, you -know; saves waste; and _now_ look at it! Wife can’t even find the -sticks!” - -“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!” - - * * * * * - -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. - -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. - -Far and wide the birds answered the call of 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. - -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. - -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 _something_. 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 noticed the path I was -clearing, back he would fly to the wall. - -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. - -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. - -Then I grew intelligent. - -“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. - -“That’s right,” he chirped out excitedly, as I turned it over and got -down to the softer portion, 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. - -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! - - * * * * * - -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 was, the exhilaration of the keen pure atmosphere was already -beginning to tell on me, and was fast mounting to my head. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 powder for the most part, for the under branches broke the -masses as they fell, and sent them flying in all directions. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -Retracing my steps, I ran into another explorer who was likewise -trying to dodge a snow-bath round a tree trunk. - -It was Virginia. - -“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——” - -“What’s the time?” I cut her short. - -“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.” - -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, come Friday: we had naught but -the remains of a shoulder of mutton. - -“How did you find where I was?” I enquired, as we ploughed our way back. - -“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!” - -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 _that_!—and you’ve no idea what a -fillip it gives to a war-meal, if you’ve never tried it. - -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. - -I had it all at the one meal, no questions asked about the number of -courses and the ounces of flour, and it only cost me about sixpence -including the coffee. - -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. - -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 _and_ 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—— - -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. - - * * * * * - -In the afternoon, as we were short of milk, I suggested that we should -go ourselves to the 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. - -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— - -“The lady is not—I mean—she _is_ at home, but she is engaged; she -is—er—she is entertaining friends and can’t see anyone.” - -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— - -“Kindly tell your mistress that her husband is here.” - -There was a pause, then the voice within said— - -“The lady is sorry she can’t see _anyone_ to-day, as she is ill in bed.” - -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— - -“Are you still there? Oh, _please_ go away!” - -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. - -“What is your Christian name?” she began. He told her. “What is the -colour of your hair?” - -He proceeded to describe himself, and added— - -“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.” - -The dog was whining inside, and trying frantically to get out. The girl -debated, and then said— - -“All right; but you won’t mind waiting a minute?” - -“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.” - -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 my -bedroom, started to compare it carefully with the original. - -“Yes,” she sighed; “you are something like it.” - -But the visitor had walked in unceremoniously, with the joyful dog -leaping around. - -“Now,” he said severely, as he took off his coat. “Where is your -mistress?” - -Eileen looked mournful. “If you please, sir, I’m _very_ sorry, but I -told you a _wicked_ 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?” - -“No!” exclaimed the harassed, hungry man, jumping to his feet again in -alarm. “What’s happened?” - -“Haven’t you heard?” and Eileen lowered her voice to an hysterical -whisper. “_We’ve discovered footprints!_” - -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— - -“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. - - * * * * * - -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. - -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. 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. - -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. - -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, 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. - -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. - -Later in the day Mr. Jasper thought of the new official regulations -_re_ 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 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! - -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. - -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 _nearly_ 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 -_everything_ for her to do! - -Next morning, when the Vicar drew up his blind at 7 A.M., 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! - - * * * * * - -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. - -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. - -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 on.” And that -was all they got!—cost them fivepence each for car-fares too! - -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!” - -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? - -“Oh, yes’m, thank you; it fits beautiful. But that’s my _best_ 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.” - -Then we looked in on Mrs. Granger, a happy-go-lucky widow who is always -passing round the 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.” - -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 _me_ -points about feeding a family!” - -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. - -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_s._ 4¾_d._, and no loops -in it at that. But, of course, you could get everything in London. - -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_d._ -a yard now, I told her; she had evidently got hold of some very old -directions. - -No, she hadn’t; it was in last week’s _Home Snippets_, and she got -the periodical out from among an assortment of similar data under the -horse-hair sofa squab, to show me. - -There, under the heading— - - “A DAINTY COSY-COMFORT FOR YOUR BOY IN THE TRENCHES,” - -it described how to make a pair of wool-work slippers, commencing with -“Get a yard of Penelope canvas.” - -Then Mrs. Jones was uneasy about her step-daughter, Kathleen, who was -in service near Chepstow. “The food’s all right; but the lady 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! - -“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,’ rather than plain Martha -Miggins (as I was), all unbelongst to no one, as it were.” - -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. - -“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.” - -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 _en -route_ were all duly locked. We were much relieved in our minds, and -started for home discussing the situation, when Virginia suddenly said— - -“Surely that is our dog barking further along the lane?” - -We paused to listen. - -“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. - -“Why, wherever have you come from?” I exclaimed. - -“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.” - - * * * * * - -And he might not have been particularly mollified when, later in the -evening, Eileen offered the following apology:— - -“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 _exactly_ like a burglar?” - -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. - - - - -XI - -Exit Eileen - - -IT 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.” - -“What is her name?” I queried; there are so many young persons in the -world. - -“That Eileen!” she answered, this time with a definite sniff. - -“She can come out here,” I said, and forthwith there sailed across the -lawn a vision such as never before had graced my garden. - -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 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. - -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. - -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?” - -“You are certainly very bright,” I stammered, striving valiantly after -truth. - -“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 _you_, ma’am, that I’m so stylish. I shouldn’t never -have _thought_ to dress like this, if you hadn’t taught me how. And now -I’m going round to show myself to Mrs. Griggles.” - - - - -XII - -The Old Wood-House - - -THE 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. - -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! - -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. - -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. - -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. - -Well, all hands rushed for basins and needles, 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! - -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. - -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. - - * * * * * - -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 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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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 the -sibilant rustle of the dead leaves still clinging to the winter oak. - - * * * * * - -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. - -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. - -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 almost too dazzling to look -upon, were it not for the mist of the grasses that envelops them. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -Still further back, where the sunshine never penetrates, even here -something strives to give beauty to barrenness and soften austerity, -for the 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. - -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. - - * * * * * - -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! - -On the western side where the ground drops 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. - -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. - -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 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. - - * * * * * - -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. - -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 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. - -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! - -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 _might_ -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. - -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. 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. - -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 like, and will use, rather than some useless bit of -jewellery.” And I quite agree. - -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. - -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. - -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 -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 _might_ -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_s._ 6_d._ into Exchequer Bonds the Government got the first -“tank.” - -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 _love_ it, dear; -_such_ a treat; that jar of ginger marmalade I took home last time was -positively _delicious_. Everyone said—etc.” - -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. - -“I’ll get rid on ’em for ’ee if you’ll leave ’em to me!” he assured me. -I said I only wished he would, as they are a real plague at times. - -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! - - * * * * * - -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. - -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. - -The window opening to the north excludes the fierce sun, but the -yellow-washed walls give light and cheeriness. And the ivy, that -ubiquitous 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. - -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! - -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. - -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. - -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? - -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. - -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 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! - -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 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. - -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. - -The little folk of the forests are so companionable when you know -them; even the same butterflies will come again and again. I recently -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. - - * * * * * - -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? - -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 -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. - - * * * * * - -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. - -Haply He left His Benediction when He passed that way. - - - - -XIII - -Abigail’s “Lonely Sailor” - - -I’M 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. - -So far as I remember, it was something like this. - -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. - -She had been lured to a Guild meeting by her friend Pamela. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - - * * * * * - -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! - -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 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 _quite_ as well as currants if -plenty of spice and peel was put in. The fried potatoes had nearly -_choked_ 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. - -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 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. - -(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.) - -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. - - * * * * * - -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. - -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 _versus_ 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. - -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 _had_ eaten them, since -they had evidently never reached _him_, 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? - -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 _parcel_ 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. - -And he signed himself, her faithful friend, Dick. - -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. - - * * * * * - -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 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. - -Poor Pamela had had her own disappointments in life, and had been -warped a little thereby. - -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. - -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 _little_ mean and -grasping, and six weeks demonstrated with absolute certainty that he -was unreliable! - - * * * * * - -A month after we received his first letter, there came another, and of -course we all fluttered with excitement. - -Dick still approved of the cakes, I was glad 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. - -_Mind!_ 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 _every_ 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? - -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 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. - -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! - -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_ 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.” - -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 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! - -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. - -So we left it at that. - -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! - -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. - -On second consideration, I am inclined to 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 _little_ 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 -_everything_ 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! - - * * * * * - -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. - -The first time I received a letter from my devoted friend Michael -McBlaggan, I admit I 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. - -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_ received a -sloping, heavy-downstroked letter of thanks from the dutiful Dick! - -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 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. - -Unfortunately he omitted to put a =X= 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! - -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. - -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 lad—all of which Abigail accepted as a personal compliment. - - * * * * * - -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. - -Likewise, cretonne gave place to unbleached calico, my remnants being -exhausted. - -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! - -As every gift-giver is aware, there is invariably 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. - -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 _her_ 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. - -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. - -Yet life was not entirely bereft of purple patches. The gloom -consequent upon the 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 _would_ have dropped in -our road if only it had been a hundred yards nearer this way. - -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 _ours_ 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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 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 _that_. -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. - -When I was devising plans for its removal, they said, Hadn’t it better -wait there till the master came home? - -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. - -Cook said: Oughtn’t it to be immersed in a pail of water? Her cousin at -the Crystal Palace had told her that——, etc. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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, 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -We all intend to visit the War Museum later on. Personally, I’m very -keen to see what they ticket it. - - * * * * * - -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.” - -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. - -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 _as well_ 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. - -But, as every good housewife knows, you 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! - -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. - -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. - -So we removed cheese from our upstairs dietary, consoling ourselves -with the thought that, at best, it was only half a course. - -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 put the patties into a _slow_ oven for ten or twelve minutes before -eating, as “it made all the difference.” - - * * * * * - -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_ 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. - -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! - -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 -place Sunday afternoons. But her uncle never took a bit of notice of it. - -No, you _never_ can tell! - - * * * * * - -All the same, I felt guilty, and began to wonder how long I should be -able to hold out! And then—— - -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. - -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. - -So the Head of Affairs walked them straight in upon me, without waiting -to ask for their birth certificates. - -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. - -They looked a little confused, for the moment, at finding themselves -precipitated into an unexpected 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. - -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! - -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. - -As they were constantly making wild 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, - - “AFFECTION’S OFFERING.” - -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! - -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: - - “TO GREET YOU.” - -While I praised the colouring, and the workmanship of both, I promptly -chose the rolling pin. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -My genuine pleasure over the presents thawed them to such an extent, -that Dick then explained 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. - -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! - -I explained that though _I_ was engaged that evening, Abigail was not; -and they must now show her those parcels. - -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. - -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 slightest trouble—and she looked positively radiant as she -took the two in tow. - -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 _was_ surprised to see that it was -Pamela, and not cook, who made the fourth in the quartette! - -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! - -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. - -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. - -To give her opportunity to pull herself together, I picked up the coral -necklace and 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. - -“That Pamela——” Then I saw it all in a flash! - -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. - -“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 _she_ was going out to Canada when the -war was over!” - -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! - -“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 -the forlorn anchor, and dusted it most carefully, to give her time to -recover. - -“No!” she gasped, and then went on bitterly, “he hasn’t had a chance -to tell me a _thing_, 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_ don’t want to marry anyone; men are all -alike. But it does make you wild, when——” - -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. - -“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!” - -“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——” - -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. - - - - -XIV - -The Bonfire - - -I HAD 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. - -And then she advised me to do a little hoeing. - -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. - -You see, there was an inwardness in her last remark; for hoeing looks -an easy, graceful, carefree occupation—till you try it. My own -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. - -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. - -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. - -Whereupon I stand at ease, and other things 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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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! - - * * * * * - -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. - -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. - -As one result of this universal conservation of energy, our local -nettle crop is one of the finest in the kingdom, I verily believe. - -“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. - -“They nettles?” he questioned, in surprise; “well, what’s the good of -wasting attention on ’em? They don’t hurt no one!” - -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. - -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 -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.) - -No, he said, he didn’t think as how it would kill the thistles right -out. - -Then why did he do it that way? I asked, instead of spudding the thing -right up by the root? - -“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. - -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 some; they deserve a good -crop, anyhow), finishing up with— - -“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 _hear_ -it!’” - -For a full two minutes he worked that scythe with real zest, as though -onslaughting the enemy. - -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 _our_ weeds! - - * * * * * - -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 was rushing pell-mell through an endless succession -of tasks.) - -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. - -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. - -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. - -“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 -stocking foot drawn over her hand, in order to pounce upon any further -signs of impending dissolution. - -“I seem to fancy I’ve heard that——” - -“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.” - -“As for example——?” - -“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.” - -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 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——! - -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. - -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 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! - -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——! - -Rabbits certainly emphasize the fact that life grows thistles as well -as figs. - - * * * * * - -With regard to the beans, it is difficult to 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. - -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 -_régime_ 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. - -“Everything do simply run off this soil!” he explained. - -Quite true; it certainly did. And two legs invariably ran with it. - -And the vegetables seemed as subject to diskerridgement as the flowers, -though it was always referred to as “blight.” - -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 -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 -_The Woman’s Magazine_. 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. - -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. - -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. - -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 -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 _en route_ 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. - -You see, the beans really assumed more than ordinary importance. - -But alas, when bean time came, all that decorated the bean plot was one -miserable row of wretched-looking stalks. - -“It’s that thur blight agin,” remarked Ananias; “I watched it a-comin’ -up the valley.” - -“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.” - -He shook his head and looked at me pityingly: “We don’t do our beans -like that a-here.” - -“And where are all the other rows,” I asked; “I suppose blight didn’t -carry off roots and all of the remainder?” - -“No, ’twere slugs, I warrant, or birds, or else the seed were stale, -maybe.” - -Ursula carefully turned over the rest of the ground later on, but -never a glimmer of a benighted bean did she find. - -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!) - -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. - -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. - -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. - - * * * * * - -These instances are sufficient to indicate the 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. - -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. - -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 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 _re_ sultanas, lemon soles, kitchen tea, -coal-cards, sugar for the charwoman, ½_d._ 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. - -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 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 A.M., 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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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; 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—— - -And all because a certain tweed skirt, or light gardening coat is -hanging in the corner of the wardrobe. - - * * * * * - -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. - - * * * * * - -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, _very_ worst, when Abigail tripped out and -announced: - -“The Rector. . . . Oh, you needn’t worry about your appearance, ma’am. -Miss Virginia’s talking to him. . . . Yes, she’s changed _her_ dress, -and is telling him just what you look like.” - - - - -XV - -The Meeting at the Cottage - - -“I HAVE 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.” - -“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. - -“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 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.” - -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. - -“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! - -“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. - -“And the other, Miss Togsie, is a literary lady, and is lodging with -old Mrs. Perkins; do you happen to know her name?” - -I had never heard it before. - -“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.” - -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. - -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 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. - -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! - -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. - -“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.” - -“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. - -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?” - -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. - -The girl continued her confidences: “When 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! - -“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?” - -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 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. - -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. - -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 exclaimed in a -strident voice, “The Editor of _The Woman’s Magazine_, I believe? _So_ -glad to meet you. I’ve been _longing_ to know you. _So_ kind of you to -ask me to this _delightful_ gathering——” etc. - -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. - -“No tea for _me_, thank you!” she exclaimed, in tones of stern -disapproval. “I never touch tea.” - -“Perhaps you would like some milk and a sandwich?” - -“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. - -“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 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. - -“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 _love_ 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”! - -“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 -_heart_ 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 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). - -“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. - -“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 _love_ them?” - -The V.A.D. had turned her back on us and was studying the distant hills. - -“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.” - -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.” - -“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. - - * * * * * - -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. - -I sat as patiently as I could waiting for her to sit down and give -place to someone else, who, 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. - -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! - -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 _can_ -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? - -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! - -After half an hour of this sort of thing the lady of the Manor took her -departure—not very quietly either! As I stepped outside in the porch -to bid her a mournful “Good-bye,” she pressed my hand and murmured— - -“You poor dear! Do let me know who finally chokes her!” - - * * * * * - -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. - -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. - -Johnny, being attacked by so many voices at once, stood on the doorstep -and addressed the room stolidly and respectfully— - -“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——” - -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!” - -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 fortunately discovered it in time, and repeated the last two -lines to save the situation. - -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— - -“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?” - - * * * * * - -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. - -“I’m going to town by the very first train to-morrow,” I said at last. - -“So ’m I!” fervently ejaculated the other two in unison. “And may I -never set eyes or ears on that fruit creature again,” added Virginia, -as she set down her plate, with an air of a pain in her chest, after -her sixth cucumber sandwich. - -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. - - * * * * * - -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. - -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 -_complete_ nervous prostration (full symptoms given), and having four -teeth extracted (_most_ obstinate one that came out in eleven separate -pieces) with gas that wouldn’t “take” (italicised description of -what the victim underwent, and 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. - -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. - -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: - -“Now, dear, what are you going to have? 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 _very_ hot; but I expect they’ve -only got it about lukewarm. If the roast lamb isn’t quite . . . what? -It’s _cold_? All the joints are cold? The waitress says it’s _cold_, -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 are _they_ hot -or cold, which? . . . _Smoked??_ Only _smoked_ 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 _pounds_ -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 _insisted_ 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 _greatest_ 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.” - -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— - -“That waitress says the other girl will be back in a minute; but -I doubt it. There; now _she’s_ 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 _course_ 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 _would_ be softer for you under the circumstances. Stale -bread, waitress! Those rolls are usually as hard as—— . . . . Yes, -perhaps we _had_ 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! _That_ isn’t brown bread, waitress! I -said _brown_ bread surely? I _must_ have said brown bread, because I -positively cannot touch anything else. Don’t you remember I called you -back and said, ‘_Brown_ 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.” - -Here half the room broke out into an unconcealed smile; _i.e._, 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— - -“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, _everything_ 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 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 _this_ 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_ don’t mind what it is; I only -advised lime-juice because coffee is so _very_ bad for anyone on diet, -and you can’t be too careful; still, please yourself, only _do_ let us -decide on _something_, 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? - -“You were surprised to hear I was back in town? I returned last week. -I absolutely couldn’t have _existed_ 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 _half_-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 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 _such_ -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? _Most_ -ordinary. As you know, I’m endowed with unusual intuition, and can -gauge people and sum them up in a _moment_, and I must say I found her -a _very_ uninteresting person—not to say exceedingly heavy.” - - * * * * * - -“Which only proves,” said Virginia when we got outside, “that even the -worst of us may profit by hearing the truth spoken in love!” - - - - -XVI - -Moon-Gold in the Garden - - -THE 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. - -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 bent down with a smother of bunches of berries, -which are being eagerly devoured by blackbirds, thrushes and hawfinches. - -Tall red and yellow hollyhocks try to persuade you that they are nearly -as high, and quite as brilliant, as the mountain-ash. - -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! - -The garden walls are teeming with colour. 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. - -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. - -And people who understand all about fuchsias glare at it severely, and -then at me, and remark, “A most unsuitable position!” - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - - * * * * * - -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, and bullfinches come out from green hiding -places and go down to the birds’ bath to drink. - -Longer grow the shadows, the swallows rise and take high curving sweeps -in the upper air—wonderful little aeronauts whom no man has trained. - -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. - -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 A.D., 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. - -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 strut up out of the coppice, and roam about the pasture. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - - * * * * * - -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. - -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. - - - - -XVII - -The Carillon of the Wilds - - -OF 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. - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -The trouble is that in sparse soil, or in wind-swept places, the plant -does not grow so tall as 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. - -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. - -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. - -In the course of time, the woods have to be cut; some are cut every -fourteen years; others are left much longer; it all depends on the -kind of tree and the purpose for which it is being grown. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -Yet you are not long wandering over the newly-cleared slopes before you -see things that were not evident before. - -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. - -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. - -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? - -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. - -Such are the wonderful ways of the woods! - -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 and form, and something -will be needed to take the place of the violets when they go. - -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. - -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 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. - -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 rows of them nestling close up to a -lichen-covered stone wall; and in this way their beauty is enhanced by -the background. - -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? - - * * * * * - -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. - -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. - -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? - -Machines in place of souls! - -Germany strove to subserve everything to her own materialistic ends, -and the price of her hideous and colossal crime is a world’s agony. - -Though this may seem but a parable, to some the reading will be clear: -Where there is no vision, the people perish. - - * * * * * - -Transcriber’s Notes: - -Obvious punctuation errors repaired. - -Page 112, “contribubution” changed to “contribution” (own literary -contribution) - -Page 167, “away” changed to “way” (my way round) - -Page 178, “seach” changed to “search” (in search of you) - -Page 200, “aromati” changed to “aromatic” (its aromatic leaves) - -Page 244, “bric” changed to “brac” of “bric-à-brac” - - - - - -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 51601-0.txt or 51601-0.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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