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diff --git a/old/51601-h/51601-h.htm b/old/51601-h/51601-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index de9d276..0000000 --- a/old/51601-h/51601-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11118 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of Between the Larch-woods and the Weir, by Flora Klickmann. - </title> - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - .faux { - font-size: 0.5em; /*this font size could be anything */ - visibility: hidden;} - -p { - margin-top: .75em; - text-align: justify; - text-indent: 1.25em; - margin-bottom: .75em; -} - - - .maintitle {font-size: 200%; font-weight: bold; text-align: center; text-indent: 0;} - .author {font-size: 120%; text-align: center; text-indent: 0;} - .authorof {font-size: 70%; text-align: center; text-indent: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-top: 0;} - div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} - .sig {margin-right: 10%; text-align: right;} - - - img {border: 0;} - .tnote {border: dashed 1px; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; - padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; text-indent: 0;} - - .unindent {margin-top: .75em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .75em; - text-indent: 0;} -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 1em; - margin-bottom: 1em; - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; - clear: both; -} - -hr.tb {width: 45%;} -hr.chap {width: 65%} -hr.full {width: 95%;} - -ul.booklist { list-style-type: none; margin-left: 15%; } - - -/* Poetry */ -.poetry-container -{ - text-align: center; -} - -.poetry -{ - display: inline-block; - text-align: left; -} - -.poetry .stanza -{ - margin: 1em auto; -} - -.poetry .verse -{ - text-indent: -3em; - padding-left: 3em; -} - -.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ - /* visibility: hidden; */ - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; - font-style: normal; - text-indent: 0;} /* page numbers */ - -.blockquot { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - -.center {text-align: center; text-indent: 0;} - -.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - -/* Images */ -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - - -@media handheld -{ - .chapter - { - page-break-before: always; - } - - h2.no-break - { - page-break-before: avoid; - padding-top: 0; - } - - .poetry - { - display: block; - margin-left: 1.5em; - } - -} - - - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -Project Gutenberg's Between the Larch-woods and the Weir, by Flora Klickmann - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Between the Larch-woods and the Weir - -Author: Flora Klickmann - -Release Date: March 30, 2016 [EBook #51601] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BETWEEN LARCH-WOODS AND WEIR *** - - - - -Produced by Emmy, MFR and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<h1 class="faux">Between the Larch-woods and the Weir</h1> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 520px;"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="520" height="800" alt="cover" /> -</div> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> - -<div class="maintitle">Between the Larch-woods<br />and the Weir</div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a><br /><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p> - - - - - -<div class="maintitle">Between<br /> -the Larch-woods<br /> -and the Weir</div> - -<div class="center"><br /><br /> -By<br /> -<span class="author">FLORA KLICKMANN</span><br /> -<span class="authorof">Editor of<br /> -“The Girl’s Own Paper and Woman’s Magazine”<br /> -Author of<br /> -“The Flower-Patch among the Hills”</span><br /><br /><br /><br /> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 167px;"> -<img src="images/emblem.jpg" width="167" height="218" alt="emblem" /> -</div> - -<div class="center"><br /><br /><br /> -<small>NEW YORK</small><br /> -Frederick A. Stokes Company<br /> -<small>Publishers</small><br /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a><br /><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p> - - - - -<div class="center"> -<b>Dedicated to<br /> -the Memory<br /> -of Arthur,<br /> -Bertie, and<br /> -Wilfrid—my<br /> -Brothers</b><br /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></p> - - - - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 3em;"><b>Move along these shades</b></span></div> -<div class="verse"><b>In gentleness of heart; . . .</b></div> -<div class="verse"><b>. . . for there is a spirit in the woods.</b></div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>I<br /> - -<small>Preamble</small></h2> - - -<p class="unindent"><span class="smcap">On</span> one of the high hills that border the river -Wye, there stands an old cottage, perched on an -outstanding bluff, with apparently no way of -approach save by airship.</p> - -<p>Looking up at it from the river bank by the -weir (the self-same weir beside which Wordsworth -sat when he wrote his famous “Lines”), -you can only glimpse the chimneys and angles -of the roof, so buried is the house in the trees -that clothe the hill-slopes to a height of nearly -nine hundred feet.</p> - -<p>The cottage is not quite at the top of the -hill; behind it rise still more woods, making -the steeps in early spring a mist of purple and -brown and soft grey bursting buds, followed by -pale shimmering green, with frequent splashes -of white when the hundreds of wild cherries -break into bloom.</p> - -<p>A darker green sweeps over all with the -oncoming of summer, which in turn becomes -crimson, lemon, rust-gold, bronze-green, copper -and orange in the autumn, where coppices of -birch and oak, ash and beech, wild cherry, crab -apple, yew and hazel intermingle with the stately<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> -ranks of the larch-woods that revel in the -heights, and give the hills a jagged edge against -the sky.</p> - -<p>The casual tourist who merely “does” the -Wye Valley—which invariably means scorching -along the one good road the district possesses, -skirting the foot of the hills—has a clever knack -of entirely missing, as a rule, the larch-woods and -the weir. Obviously, when any self-respecting -motorist finds himself on a fine road where he -can trundle along at thirty miles an hour (at the -least), with seldom any official let or hindrance, -he naturally shows his friends what his car can -do! And in such circumstances it is necessary -to keep the eyes glued to the half-mile straight -ahead. Even though the natives are too virtuous -to need the upkeep of many policemen, stray -cattle and slow-dragging timber-wains can be -quite as upsetting as a constable; while a landslide -down the hills may precipitate huge trees -across the road any day of the year, and prove -an equal hindrance.</p> - -<p>Hence, the motorist seldom seems to have -eyes to spare for anything but the road; he -takes as read the woods that climb the great -green walls towering far and yet farther above -him. And as for the many weirs he passes—who -could even hear them above the hustle of -a becomingly powerful car that is hoping to -boast how it covered the twenty-nine miles from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> -Chepstow to Ross in exactly thirty minutes! -Small wonder that such as these never see that -weather-worn cottage, half-hidden among the -green.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>But for those who are too poor, or too rich, -to need to bother about advertising their car—those -who can indulge in the luxury of walking -with no fear of losing social prestige—there -is, about that cottage, a world of eternal youth -that never grows old, a world that is for ever -offering new discoveries.</p> - -<p>And from the weir in the valley to the larch-woods -at the summit, curiously insistent voices -are calling. You have but to walk along the -river bank to hear them in the tumbling, swirling -waters as they pour over, and sweep around, the -boulders in the river bed. And although the -only living thing you may actually see is the -blue glint of a darting kingfisher, or a heron -standing sentinel on some mossed and water-splashed -rock, or a burnished swallow skimming -over the surface of the water, you know for a -certainty that there is more—much more—in the -murmur of the river and the clamour of the weir -than the ear can ever classify.</p> - -<p>Loud as it is when the tide is going down, it -is not noisy—for noise never soothes, whereas -this babbling of the waters is one of the most -restful sounds the tired mind can know.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></p> - -<p>When you leave the river, and take the path -that climbs up through the woods—the path -you have to search for, so overgrown is it with -nut bushes and bracken and low hanging branches -of the birches—another sense of mystery awaits -you. Though the way may get easier, and the -trail a little more defined, the higher you climb, -you feel you are penetrating a new land—that -you are the first ever to come this way.</p> - -<p>And that inexplicable lure of the unknown -seizes you; though you can see nothing ahead -of you but a steep rough footpath arched over -by the branches of the trees that hedge you -about on either side, you are conscious of “something” -beyond the croon of the ringdoves and the -scuttle of the rabbit. It comes to you in the -odour of last year’s dead leaves under the oaks; -in the pungent warm scent of the larches in the -sun. It greets you in the army of foxgloves -that have monopolized the one bit of open sky -space where a few trees were uprooted in a storm; -and in the tall clump of dark blue campanula -that has sprung up in another spot where a sun-shaft -falls; and in the regiments of wild daffodils -in a clearing that so far have escaped the trowel -of the spoiler.</p> - -<p>You sense it on an early Easter day, when -you pause half-way up, and look back on a vast -tracery of bare branches and twigs, pale grey -where the light strikes on them, and bursting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> -into smiles at intervals where the blackthorn -has come out.</p> - -<p>It speaks to you when you come upon the -smooth grey bark of the beeches, the beautifully -ribbed rind of the Spanish chestnut, and the -scaly, red trunks of the pines.</p> - -<p>You feel it at your feet when you see the -brown, uncurling fern fronds; and it pulls at -your heart when you step across a brook that -is quietly talking to itself, like a happy baby, -as it wanders downhill, unconcerned and most -haphazard, amid watercress and ragged robin -and creeping jenny.</p> - -<p>When at last you emerge for a moment—breathless—from -the woods, and come upon the -cottage, standing in the midst of its gay flower-patch, -you think you have solved the mystery -in the sweet smell of the newly turned earth; -or that it hovers over the crimson flame of the -Herb Robert glowing all about the tops of the -grey stone walls.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Yet it is not merely the birds and the flowers, -the wood scents and the trees that hold one as -with a spell. Such things can be catalogued; -whereas there is something intangible among the -wild woods, something indefinable, beyond all -material things, that makes in some incomprehensible -way for peace of mind and the mending -of the soul. And it is one of our greatest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> -blessings that we cannot tabulate it, or order -it by the dozen from the Stores; that it cannot -be “cornered” or monopolized by the money -grubber.</p> - -<p>The healing of the hills cannot be purchased -with gold. It is free to all—yet it can only be -had by individual, quiet seeking.</p> - -<p>The Glory still burns in the Bush; the Light -of God’s kindling can never be extinguished. -But sometimes we are too preoccupied to turn -aside to see the great sight; and sometimes we -fail to put our shoes from off our feet, forgetting -that the place whereon we stand is holy ground.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>II<br /> - -<small>Enter Eileen</small></h2> - - -<p class="unindent"><span class="smcap">I have</span> no “at home” day. I confess it reluctantly, -knowing what a state of social forsakenness -this implies. But it is wonderful how you -can manage to occupy your time with the simple -little duties of an editor’s office, till you never -feel the lack of greater events!</p> - -<p>Not that I am cut off from acquaintances -thereby; decidedly not. They are kind enough -to turn up on Saturday afternoons and take their -chance of finding me in; and when they do, -with one accord they proceed to pity me for all -the “at homes” I’ve missed during the week, -and they do their best to make me bright and -happy for the short half-holiday I am able to -take from work, while I just sit with my hands -in my lap and give myself up to being entertained.</p> - -<p>I don’t do knitting on such occasions, unlike -Miss Quirker who, when I chance to call, -remarks, “You’ll excuse my going on with this -sock, won’t you?—then I shan’t feel that I’m -<i>entirely</i> wasting my time!”</p> - -<p>For weeks I had been feeling that, no matter -what happened, I simply must get away from -London for a change of scene and a change of -noise—not a holiday; holidays had been out of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> -the question for some time past, with the major -portion of the office staff at the front. We had -been postponing and postponing going away, -feeling that it was unpatriotic to be out of town -when there was so much work to do. But at -last I decided some fresh air was imperative, and -arranged to spend a little time at my cottage on -the hillside, Virginia and Ursula, my two most -intimate friends, accompanying me, as the Head -of Affairs was abroad on important business.</p> - -<p>It seemed such long, long months since I -had heard anything about the Flower-Patch. -True, I had left Mrs. Widow (the villager who is -supposed to look after the house in my absence) -a bundle of stamped, addressed envelopes, when -last I was down, begging her to send me an -occasional letter, giving me news of the cottage, -and telling me how the flowers were getting on, -and whether the rose arches had blown down, -and when the wild snowdrops in the orchard -were in bloom, and if there were many apples -on the new trees we had planted, and whether -the lavender cuttings had taken hold, etc. I -felt that a few details of this description might -help to keep my brain balanced amid the tumult -and terror of the War.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Widow wrote regularly every month, -and this is the type of letter she always sent:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“Dear Mam. i hope your well, my newralger -has been cruell bad but it is Better now.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> -my daugters baby ethel have two teeth. she is -a smart Baby but do cry a lot. Mrs Greens -little girl have had something in her throat taken -out. doctor says its had a noise. John Green -have been called up but I expec you dont know -none of them As they lives 3 mile above Monmouth. -Mrs Greens sister lives to Cardiff she -had a boy last week. i hope the master is well. -Its the Sunday School versary tomorror. Thank -you for the money. glad to say everything all -rite.</p> - -<div class="sig"> -<span style="margin-right: 5em;">Yours</span><br /> -<span class="smcap">Mrs Widow</span>.”<br /> -</div></div> - -<p>I suppose the correct thing would be to call -the letters “human documents”; but as the -humans mentioned in the documents are, as -often as not, people of whom I have never -heard, the record of anniversaries, illnesses, -births, deaths, and marriages that she sends -regularly each month (as a receipt for cash -received), are seldom either illuminating or -exciting. There was nothing for it but to go -down and glean impressions first hand.</p> - -<p>It was known that I was going out of town -the following week, therefore a collection of -callers had looked in, and they were doing their -utmost to “liven me up” one afternoon in -February, and we were having a lovely time -explaining to each other how highly strung our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> -respective doctors said we were when they insisted -that we must take a complete rest. It -appeared—after a lavish amount of detail—that -we each suffered from far too active a brain; -I found I was by no means the only one!</p> - -<p>We also were most communicative about the -brilliancy of our children—not that we said it -because we were their mothers, you understand; -fortunately, unlike other mothers, we were able -to take quite detached views of our own children, -and regard them from a purely impersonal standpoint; -a great gain, because it enabled us to see -how really exceptional they were.</p> - -<p>I was not expected to contribute anything -under this heading, save copious notes of exclamation -on hearing what the various head -masters and mistresses had said regarding the -genius of the respective children. It was simply -amazing to sit there and just contemplate how -indebted the world would ultimately be to these -ladies, for having bestowed such prodigies on -their day and generation; for evidently there -wasn’t one of my guests who owned a just-ordinary -child! No, these young people were -all the joy and pride of their teacher, and the -way all of them would have passed their exams, -(if they hadn’t also possessed too active brains, -like their mothers), was positively phenomenal.</p> - -<p>There was one exception though—a boy at -Dulwich, who was notorious for his adhesion to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> -the lowest place in the form. But his mother, -not one whit behind the others in her proud -estimate of her son, confided to me that, for her -part, she shouldn’t think of allowing Claude to -be high up in the form. His ability was so -marked, that the doctor said he must at all -costs be kept back. Besides, you always knew -that a school that put its brightest and most -brilliant boys at the bottom of the class never -showed favouritism or forced the children -unduly.</p> - -<p>I agreed with her heartily, and then listened -to the confidences of another caller, a near neighbour -(this one was without children, brilliant or -otherwise), who told me that she had felt it her -patriotic duty in war time to do all she could -with her own two hands in the house; she had -therefore cut down her fourteen indoor servants -to nine; and she assured me she found that -they could really manage quite well with this -small number. Of course I looked politely -incredulous; who wouldn’t, knowing that there -was her husband as well as herself to be waited -upon?—and I raised my eyebrows interrogatively, -as though to inquire how she ever succeeded in -getting even the simplest war-meal served with -so inadequate a staff! But before she had -time to tell me how she managed, the door -opened and Mrs. Griggles was announced. And -as, whenever Mrs. Griggles is announced, it is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> -the signal for everyone who can to fly, I was not -surprised to see furs and handbags being collected, -and in a few more minutes the newcomer and I -had the drawing room to ourselves.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Griggles is a woman with, let us say, a -dominant note; not that I object to that; every -woman nowadays simply must have a dominant -note if she is to keep her head above water -(women’s war-work has proved a boon in that -respect), and some of them are more trying than -Mrs. Griggles’ pursuit of charity recipients. -There is the moth-ball lady, for instance, who’s -perennial boast is that the moth never come -near <i>her</i> furs; the nuisance is that no one else -can come near them either.</p> - -<p>Then there is the educational lady, who runs -a serial story on the iniquities of our educational -methods. “The whole system is wrong, abso-<i>lute</i>-ly -wrong, from beginning to end,” she -declaims. My one consolation is, that she -would be far less pleased if it were right, since -she would then have nothing to rail about.</p> - -<p>But my greatest bugbear is the inquisitorial -lady—generally eulogized by the Vicar, when he -is stuck fast for an adjective, as “<i>very</i> capable.” -She starts right away, in the middle of a piece -of best war-cake, with a clear cut inquiry such -as: “Does your husband wear striped flannel -shirts under his white ones?” Hurriedly you -try to decide on the safest reply. But she has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> -you either way! If you say Yes, she explains -how injurious it is to wear coloured stripes; -they may be a deadly skin irritant, for all you -know. If you say No, she holds up hands of -amazement that any woman can neglect the -man of her heart in such a way, and instructs -you in the necessity for his wearing flannel in -addition to his vests.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Griggles is a mere picnic beside the -inquisitorial lady, for at least you know what -her theme will be; whereas with the other you -never know where she will open an attack.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Griggles’ mission in life is to be generous -and charitable. “It is so beautiful to feel that -you have done another a kindness, no matter -how small,” she constantly remarks. And I’ll say -this for Mrs. Griggles, I never knew anyone able -to do so many kindnesses in the course of the -year—at other people’s expense! And I never -knew anyone more generous—with other people’s -possessions.</p> - -<p>Where her own belongings are concerned, -she is the very soul of rigid economy; why they -didn’t co-opt her on to the War Savings Committee -I cannot understand.</p> - -<p>Only once has she been known to give away -anything of her own, and that was a paper -pattern of a dressing jacket that she cut out in -newspaper from the tissue original which she -had borrowed from a friend.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p> - -<p>Whenever I see the lady looming in the -offing, I find myself mentally running over my -wardrobe, to see what coat or skirt I can spare -for the sad case she is probably just starting in a -hairdresser’s shop; or wondering whether I have -any sheets for a sick woman; or whether the -stock of knee-caps I purchased at the last Bazaar -is quite exhausted; or whether the kitchen -would rebel if she does send every week for the -tea-leaves; or whether I’ve given away all the -Surgical-Aid letters.</p> - -<p>You never know what request she will make. -Yet she doesn’t irritate me, as she does some -people, simply because I regard her as a Charity-Broker; -her work is distinctly useful, and, up to -a certain point, praiseworthy, if she didn’t make -quite such a song about her own benevolence -and ignore the part in it played by other people.</p> - -<p>She saves my time by hunting out cases that -may, or may not, need help; and if she glows -when she bestows my money or my boots upon -them—well, I glow too, with the thought of my -own kindness and beneficence. And anything -that can make anybody glow in this vale of -tears, isn’t to be despised.</p> - -<p>Of course I wasn’t surprised when she began, -with her second mouthful, “By the way, dear, -I’ve <i>such</i> a distressing case I’m needing a little -help for; really quite <i>heart</i>-breaking.”</p> - -<p>I’d heard it all before, and instantly decided<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> -that my mackintosh could go; it was rather too -skimpy for the fuller skirts that the season had -ushered in. Likewise the plaid blouse; the -pattern was very disappointing now it was made -up; piece goods are so deceptive. And I -would gladly part with the vermilion satin -cushion embroidered with yellow eschscholtzias, -that had lain in a trunk in the attic since the -last Sale of Work but two, if the distressing -case could be induced to believe that it needed -propping up in bed. But the rest of my goods -I meant to cling to with all the tenacity of a -war-reduced woman with no separation allowance. -I hadn’t one solitary woollen garment to -spare, no matter <i>how</i> rheumaticky the heartbreak -might be.</p> - -<p>But it turned out that it wasn’t clothes she -was wanting, at least, only as a side issue. Her -main need was for a few weeks of fresh air, a -happy home, plenty of good plain food and good -influence (this last, she told me, was <i>most</i> important, -and that was why she had thought at once -of coming to me) for a girl who had just had a -bad break-down, through overwork and underfeeding -in a cheap-class boarding house where -she had been the maid of all work. Nothing -the matter with her that you could put your -finger on, but just a general slump—though -Mrs. Griggles put it more choicely than that.</p> - -<p>The girl’s biographical data included: a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> -grandmother who attended Mrs. Griggles’ -mothers’ meeting regularly, though she had to -hobble there, one of the cleanest and most -respectful women you could ever hope to meet; -a mother who had died in the Infirmary at her -birth, a father who had never been forthcoming, -and an upbringing in the workhouse schools.</p> - -<p>I hadn’t been exactly planning to take on -an orphan at that time: they are proverbial for -their appetites, and the butcher’s book hadn’t -led my thoughts in that particular direction, any -more than the dairyman’s weekly bill. All the -same, when Mrs. Griggles showed me how plain -my duty lay before me, naturally I said: “Send -her and her grandmother round to see me this -evening.” I was even more anxious to see the -grandmother than the girl; for I had long ago -given up all hope of ever meeting again such a -phenomenon (or perhaps it should be phenomena, -being feminine) as a woman who was clean as -well as respectful!</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>They arrived promptly. The grandmother -seemed a sensible, hard-working body, who had -migrated from Devonshire to London when she -married; for over forty years she had lived, or -rather existed, in the back-drifts of our great -city with never a glimpse of her native village. -Yet——</p> - -<p>On my writing table there stood a bowl of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> -snowdrops, in a mass of sweet-scented frondy -moss, with sprigs of the tiny-leaved ivy; they had -arrived only that morning from the Flower-Patch -among the hills. When she saw them, the old -woman clasped her hands with genuine emotion. -“Oh, ma’am, <i>how</i> they ’mind me of when I was a -girl!” she exclaimed. “And with that moss and -all! Why, I can just feel my fingers getting all -cold and damp as they used to when I did -gather them in the lane ’long by our house—it -seems on’y yesterday, that it do!” and tears -actually came to her eyes.</p> - -<p>I decided on the spot that her granddaughter -should have the freshest of air and the best of -food (to say nothing of unlimited good influence) -for the next month, at any rate.</p> - -<p>As for the granddaughter herself, I think -she was the most utterly dejected, forlorn, of-no-account-looking -girl I have ever set eyes -on. She told me she was twenty (though her -intelligence seemed about fourteen), and her -name was Eileen. It was noticeable, however, -that her grandmother, in the fit of reminiscent -absent-mindedness occasioned by the snowdrops, -called her Ann.</p> - -<p>It wasn’t that she looked ill; hers was an -expression of hopelessness; the look that comes -to a young thing from a course of systematic -unkindness from which it has neither the wit -nor the courage to escape. Since she had left<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> -the Parish Schools, she had apparently drifted -from one place to another, each worse than the -last. Fortunately her grandmother had kept a -firm hold of her, and had done her best to keep -her clean—both in body and mind; but her -whole appearance said as plainly as any words, -that no one else had ever taken the slightest -personal interest in her, or given her anything to -hope for.</p> - -<p>Her hair was screwed round in a small tight -knot in the nape of her neck, and kept there by -two huge hairpins the size of small meat skewers; -her dress was merely a dingy-black shapeless -covering, not even a fancy button to brighten -it; her hat was a plain all-black sailor. She -had that blank, dazed look that one so often sees -when lower-class children are brought up in -masses, where individual attention is impossible.</p> - -<p>I told them that I was going down to the -West of England the following week, and if she -thought she could stand the quiet, and the -absence of shops and people, Eileen could come -for a month, and just breathe the fresh air and do -her best to get strong.</p> - -<p>She was genuinely delighted—there was no -mistake about that. She seemed quite to wake -up, and became almost animated at the thought -of going into the country. <i>That</i> was the thing -that appealed to her; and she looked at me -with open-eyed amazement when I told her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> -that the snowdrops grew wild in the orchard -there.</p> - -<p>In the orchard? And might she pick a few -for herself and send one or two to her grandmother? -Wouldn’t “they” mind if anyone -picked some? She had never seen a violet or a -primrose growing wild in her life, though she -had always wanted to.</p> - -<p>And she and her grandmother looked and -smiled at each other with some new bond of -sympathy.</p> - -<p>Heredity will out!</p> - -<p>“But,” said the grandmother firmly, almost -ashamed of her own sentimental lapse of the -minute before, “of course she will work, ma’am, -and work well—or she’s no granddaughter of -mine!—in return for your great kindness in -having her. She can’t pay you in money, but -she can work, and I hope you’ll find her very -useful. You’ll do your best for the lady, won’t -you, Ann?”—most severely to the girl.</p> - -<p>“Yes, grandmother,” she replied, dropping -back into an attitude of meek dejection. “Of -course I’ll do my <i>very</i> best.”</p> - -<p>I told them there was no need for her to do -more than make her own bed. Abigail would -be there to do all I needed. But the girl -protested she should be happier if she had -proper work to do, if only I could find something -I wanted done; and her grandmother<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> -insisted that she hoped she knew her place, and -it wasn’t a lady she was born to be, and therefore -I must see that she didn’t sit with her hands -idle.</p> - -<p>So I said she and the housemaid must settle -it between them, and I summoned Abigail to be -introduced to Eileen, and explained that they -would be spending the next week or two together.</p> - -<p>Abigail listened, I presume, though her gaze -was on the curtain-pole at the far end of the -room; and she finally departed with neither look -nor word that betrayed the slightest consciousness -of Eileen’s existence; Eileen meanwhile -looked nervously frightened and more dejected -than ever.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I was by no means surprised when Abigail -sought me out next morning to inquire, if it was -all the same to me, might cook go down to the -country this time, in her stead? as her sister -was expecting to be married immediately—well, -it might be next week, or the week after, or -next month; she couldn’t say exactly; it all -depended on when her young man got leave. -But naturally she, Abigail, wanted to be present -at the wedding; and one couldn’t get up in -half-an-hour from Tintern! In any case, she -was having a new dress made, in readiness for -the event, and wanted to go to the dressmaker -next Friday.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></p> - -<p>It would be a most inhuman person who -sought to part a girl and her sister’s wedding; -naturally I said on no account must she be away -from London on such an occasion—and please -send cook to me.</p> - -<p>She came, with pursed lips.</p> - -<p>Of course, if Madam wished her to go down -to the country, Madam had only to give instructions, -etc.—the inference being that whenever -Madam gave instructions, crowds flew to carry -them out!</p> - -<p>But her left ankle had been very troublesome -lately; Madam probably remembered that -it was all due to the time she turned her foot -under on the rough path in the lower wood the -very last occasion she went down. She had -thought of asking for a couple of hours off, to go -to the doctor about it to-morrow; but of course, -if there wasn’t time for that, etc.——</p> - -<p>February in the country never did agree -with her; always gave her hay fever, she was -never herself for six months after; still, if I -wished her to go next week, etc.——</p> - -<p>Only, there was one point on which she -would be glad of a clear understanding before -she went: <i>was she expected to wait on that young -person?</i></p> - -<p>I told her, no; and she need not wait on me -either. I shouldn’t take either of them down -with me. I left it at that—to her surprise.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p> - -<p>Then I sought out Eileen and her grandmother, -asked if she felt she could make the -fires and wash up, if Mrs. Widow and I did all -the rest; as, if so, I should pay her at the same -rate that I paid Abigail. You should have seen -the look of relief that came over her face when -she heard Abigail was not going.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I could do <i>everything</i>,” she said. “I’d -so much rather do it and be by myself. I’m -very strong; and I’m afraid I might upset Miss -Abigail.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Miss</i> Abigail!” snorted the old grandmother. -“Has to earn her living same as the -rest of us, I suppose! But I’m much more easy -in my mind, ma’am, that Ann is going without -her. She’ll look after you well, she will; you’ll -want nothing, her’ll see to that” (slipping back -into her old-time Devonshire), “but she’s not -bin used to stuck-up society.”</p> - -<p>Thus it came about that instead of the -fashionably-attired and efficient Abigail, I eventually -went down to my cottage accompanied -by a girl who looked precisely like an estimable -orphan, just stepped out of some Early Victorian -Sunday-school library book; and you felt sure -she would come to an equally virtuous end.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, I didn’t go the following week, -as I had planned.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>III<br /> - -<small>“You Never Know”</small></h2> - - -<p class="unindent">Life is full of surprises.</p> - -<p>Virginia has always maintained that the -motto of my house ought to be “<small>YOU NEVER -KNOW</small>,” simply because of the rapidity with -which I change my mind, and the complications -and unexpected developments that follow thereupon.</p> - -<p>She begged me to have it carved in the -wooden beams above the mantelpiece. But as -I didn’t, she brought me a Chinese tablet (her -brother is a persistent traveller, and I think she -had unearthed it from some of his effects), -bearing on a red background three imposing-looking -Chinese symbols, in gold.</p> - -<p>I asked her what they meant; though I have -never embarked on any language of China, -Virginia has studied most things under the sun, -and I concluded she knew. She replied that it -was the household motto: “You never know”; -and she placed it in a conspicuous position -above the fireplace in my London dining-room. -And when guests asked its meaning, of course I -translated it for them, with the air of one who -had spoken Mandarin from her cradle; and they -looked proportionately impressed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></p> - -<p>One day, however, an Oriental scholar of -unquestionable authority chanced to be dining -with us, and he suddenly raised his glasses and -studied the tablet with evident interest.</p> - -<p>“May I ask why you have that above the -mantelpiece?” he inquired politely.</p> - -<p>“Oh, it’s merely the family motto,” I answered -airily, “but we have it in Chinese to-night, in -your honour.”</p> - -<p>“Really! You do surprise me!! It seems -so curious to be greeted with that in your -house!!!” And he looked at me in undisguised -amazement.</p> - -<p>Then I grew anxious, and wondered to -myself what it did mean; and since discretion -is the better part of a good many things, I -thought it would be wisest to explain that -I hadn’t the faintest idea what it stood for.</p> - -<p>He smiled when I confessed. “Well, I can -tell you,” he said, as he proceeded to mumble a -little in an unknown tongue to himself, reading -each collection of strokes in turn. “It means—er—let -me see—well—to translate it quite -broadly, you understand, in the vernacular, the -nearest equivalent in English is ‘Beware of -Pickpockets.’”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Truly, you never know!</p> - -<p>Work was extra heavy in my office that -week. Like every other business house, we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> -were understaffed, with the majority of our -expert men at the front. Moreover, I was -trying to get things a little ahead, as I was -going away on the Friday.</p> - -<p>I did not get home till nearly nine o’clock -on the Tuesday following my adoption of -Eileen, and by that time I was too tired to -trouble about matters domestic. Nevertheless -I noticed that the house seemed very draughty; -but I put it down to a very high wind that had -set in earlier in the day.</p> - -<p>As I was going upstairs to bed about half-past -ten, I noticed the powerful draught again. -I like plenty of air in the house, but after all a -line should be drawn somewhere when it is -blowing a hurricane, and I said so.</p> - -<p>“<i>Well</i>, and to think I forgot to tell you!” -said Abigail cheerfully. “The skylight’s blown -clean away, and rain’s been pouring in like anything -on the top landing!” Judging by her -pleased expression, you might have thought that -the deluge was in gold.</p> - -<p>If you have ever been fortunate enough to -find yourself minus a fair-sized skylight on a -stormy night, and the man of the house away -on urgent business, and not expected back for a -month, you will know what my feelings were -when I heard the news. It is useless for me to -try to describe them.</p> - -<p>Virginia and Ursula, who live near me in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> -London, were hastily summoned. By the time -we had all done exclaiming, “Well, I never!” -singly and in chorus, and had heard full details of -the catastrophe repeated for the eighth time by -Abigail, it was eleven o’clock. And as no self-respecting -builder’s man can do any work after -five o’clock (and few seem able to do any before -that hour), it was obviously useless to hope for -professional aid. So we took a step-ladder to -the top landing and piled it on a table, with me -on top of all, domestics clutching the step-ladder -fervently as I balanced myself on its dizzy -height, and exclaiming, “Oh, do be careful, -madam!” at frequent intervals; with Virginia -and Ursula offering unlimited advice in a -running duet.</p> - -<p>At last I was high enough to get my head -out of the space where the skylight ought to -have been, and there I saw it further down the -roof. I fished for it with the crook of an -umbrella-handle, and got it up at last, though -it threatened to blow away again every moment. -We managed to secure it by putting some -screws in the framework of the roving skylight, -and also in the woodwork to which that skylight -was supposed to be attached, but wasn’t; and -then winding copper wire round and round both -sets of screws. In this way we kept the flighty -creature anchored till the morning. I was -rather proud of the neat and effectual job<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> -I had made of it, when I surveyed it from -below.</p> - -<p>The builder smiled politely but pitifully -when he gazed at my efforts next day. He -then proceeded to explain to me that though, of -course, he was quite competent to refix that -skylight as it ought to be fixed (and as, indeed, -it never had been fixed since the day the house -was built), nevertheless it would be an exceedingly -awkward job. From what I could gather from -his technical conversation, and diagrams made -with a stubby bit of pencil on old envelopes -from his pocket, that skylight had been placed -in absolutely the most inaccessible part of the -whole roof; it would take all sorts of ladders, to -say nothing of scaffolding, to get anywhere near -it, etc. It would be a dangerous job, too, and of -course he must take every precaution and run no -risks. All of which I knew from past experience -was by way of letting me know that (being the -unfortunate owner of the property) I should have -the privilege of settling a nice long bill presently.</p> - -<p>I did feebly suggest that rather than imperil -the lives of his most valuable-looking assistants, -he should simplify matters by dealing with the -skylight from the inside. But he only looked -at me witheringly and said, “Madam, the hinges -are outside.”</p> - -<p>Naturally, I was humiliated and effectually -silenced.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p> - -<p>When, finally, they had accomplished the -well-nigh impossible, and reached that skylight, -the builder returned to report that never, in all -his life, had he seen a roof in worse condition -than mine was. It appeared to be simply a -special providence that the whole covering to -the house had not blown clean away—or else -tumbled in on top of us! He said he just -wished I would come up and see it; he didn’t -ask anyone merely to take his word for it; there -it was for me to see; and I might believe him -when he said that if the roof needed three new -slates it needed three hundred.</p> - -<p>Once again I got in a gentle word to the -effect that it was strange we had never had any -trouble with the roof, nor a drop of rain come -through; but the look of injured, virtuous -dignity he put on at the mere hint of doubt on -my part, made me hastily beg him to proceed -with the necessary work—otherwise I saw myself -sitting up another night sick-nursing a skylight!</p> - -<p>The builder told me I needn’t worry about -the gentleman being away; lots of gentlemen -he was in the habit of working for were away -just now; he would superintend the work his -own self, and he went off assuring me that he -meant to make a <i>good</i> job of it.</p> - -<p>Then I sent a note to Eileen, asking her kindly -to postpone packing for a few days, as I was -unavoidably detained in town.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p> - -<p>The men got on the top of the roof most -mornings at about half-past six, and apparently -started to play golf up there—judging by the -sounds overhead. But they always found it -too windy, or too wet, or too something, to stay -up there, once they had awakened the whole -household. So they invariably went away again -till about three-thirty in the afternoon—by which -time I suppose the roof was thoroughly well -aired, and it was safe for them to sit on it and -smoke a pipe or two.</p> - -<p>It was a fortnight before that roof was finished. -Finally they left. And the kitchen staff grew -pensive.</p> - -<p>But the very day after they had cleared their -ladders away, I saw a tiny stream oozing out of -the sodden grass in the front garden. I knew, -even before the builder returned and looked wise, -that it was a leak in the pipe leading from the -water-main.</p> - -<p>The pipe-mending squad that arrived next -morning was not the same as the roof-mending -squad; but the kitchen, being quite impartial, -recovered its spirits immediately.</p> - -<p>These men, evidently most competent, started -work in a business-like manner, by removing the -two sets of gates, that terminate the semi-circular -carriage drive, and blocking up the stable door -with them. Next they dug what looked like a -network of trenches for giants. They piled up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> -the edging tiles from the beds, and the gravel -from the paths, on the front door step; they -banked up turf and more gravel under the -windows; they uprooted laurels and privet, and -the usual array of evergreens that are the only -things that will keep alive in a London front -garden, and laid them one on top of the other, -effectually barricading the tradesmen’s entrance. -And when they had made it delightfully impossible -for anyone to get either in or out of the -house, they one and all came to a halt, and leant -wearily on their picks.</p> - -<p>Just then a brilliant idea seemed to strike -one of them whereby he might make himself a -still greater nuisance, and he hurriedly turned -off the water.</p> - -<p>They spent the remainder of the day resting -on their tools—save when they were gallantly -passing in cans and jugs of water (borrowed from -my neighbour) to smiling Cook or Abigail at the -side door.</p> - -<p>It rained hard all night, and by next morning -we had quite a spacious lake in the front garden. -The squad returned to the post of duty, and -once more disposed themselves like guardian -angels on its banks. When, in sheer exasperation, -I asked them how long they were going to -leave things like that, and the house without a -drop of water, the foreman replied, politely but -non-committally, that he couldn’t exactly say,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> -but the Boss was coming round to see me -shortly.</p> - -<p>The builder arrived later, to inform me that -this was a most serious leak; he didn’t know -when he had seen one precisely like it before. -Of course, it was partly due to the pipe; how -any man could have called himself a plumber, -and put in such a pipe as <i>that!</i>—well, words failed -him! He himself was not a man to boast of his -own doings, but he didn’t mind telling me that -I could take up any piece of ground I liked, -where he had laid a pipe, and see the sort <i>he</i> put -underground.</p> - -<p>Then it transpired that the leakage was of -such a character that he dare not proceed an -inch farther with it without calling in the water -company’s officials. Did I authorise him to do -so? Of course they would charge special fees -for “opening up the ground.” I wondered where -else they would find any to “open up” on my -premises, seeing that by this time the whole -estate was a gaping void! As I saw the turncock -and a variety of other gentlemen with gold -letters embroidered on their collars, propping -themselves up against my holly hedge, I just -said, “Oh, yes; do anything you please.”</p> - -<p>And they did.</p> - -<p>Some of the embroidered ones then proceeded -to dig up the whole pavement, and right out -into the middle of the road (the leak being inside<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> -the garden, close beside my front door!). It -does not take long to write about it, but I don’t -want to mislead you into thinking there was any -feverish haste about their methods. Oh, no! -theirs was the calm un-hurrying work of the -true artist; and the builder’s squad stood round -admiringly, most careful not to interfere.</p> - -<p>Once again the whole lot came to a standstill, -and rested on any available implement; and -they now made a goodly crowd (I had no idea -there were so many non-khaki men still loose), -which was further supplemented by a policeman, -one or two aged men who had discarded the -workhouse for the more leisurely life that modern -business offers, and a variety of languid young -ladies who had been sent out on urgent errands -from sundry local shops.</p> - -<p>In the lull, the chief official from the water -company sought an interview with me, when he -broke the news that never, in all his life, had he -seen a more antiquated stop-cock (which, by the -way, had been made in Germany) than the one -I had had placed (apparently out of sheer perversity -or malice) in the front of my premises. -It seems that there was no key in the whole of -London that would turn that stop-cock; and -when finally it had turned it, that key could not -be got out again. However, or whenever, I had -managed to evade the Eye of Authority so far -as to drop that stop-cock into the ground, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> -could not think; but, at any rate, out it would -have to come again.</p> - -<p>Here I managed to get in a word sideways, -and told him that the much maligned article -had been placed there by another squad of men -from the same water company (after a similar -harangue), and then duly “passed” by an -inspector only two years ago.</p> - -<p>Two years ago! he exclaimed, why, <i>that</i> -inspector had been called up in the spring, and -he was no loss to the company! Not that he -(the speaker) was one to say anything against -another man’s work, but if I would just come -out and examine it for myself (it was raining -torrents, and the stop-cock was an island in a -watery waste) I would see that the whole affair -was scandalous. He was the last to utter an ill-word -about any man, more especially behind his -back, but conscientiousness compelled him to -state that the late inspector was about as fit to -be in the employ of a water company as—“as -<i>you</i> are, ma’am.” Evidently he could think of -no more hopelessly incapable specimen of -humanity.</p> - -<p>Then it transpired that the real object of his -call on me was to ask whether I authorised him -to put in a new stop-cock (more special fees, of -course).</p> - -<p>As I didn’t seem to be left much choice in -the matter, and I wasn’t sure whether, if I left it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> -in, after being told to take it out, the Defence of -the Realm couldn’t come and have me shot at -dawn, I told him he had my full permission to -put in twenty new stop-cocks if he liked; he -was at liberty to place them as a trimming outside -my garden wall, or as an edging at the kerb, -or in a fancy zigzag design around the drive—anything—everything—whatsoever -and howsoever -he pleased, so long as it enabled him, conscientiously, -<i>to turn on my water again</i>.</p> - -<p>(The lady next door had already said that -while she was delighted to give me the water, -and would even throw in all the jugs and cans -she possessed, she really couldn’t spare her -coachman (aged 73) for more than half-an-hour -at each delivery, as he was the one ewe-lamb -left them, since war claimed the rest, and -would I kindly see that my kitchen limited their -conversation to that extent, and returned him, -carriage forward, within that time.)</p> - -<p>The Chief Official looked at me thoughtfully -for half a moment, and then retired in silence—to -have the door-mat he had just vacated immediately -monopolised by the builder, who had -been waiting respectfully in the background. -(I say background, because I can’t think of any -other comprehensive term that signifies a couple -of narrow, wobbly, muddy planks, laid across a -well-filled moat; <i>ground</i> there was none.)</p> - -<p>He congratulated me on having been let off<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> -by the Official so easily, and cited instances of -owners of property he knew who had been compelled -to lay miles of fresh pipes (or it seemed -to be miles, judging by the time he took to -describe it) as the result of inattention to Official -Rules and Regulations regarding Stop-cocks. -But he intimated that he had put in a good -word for me, and besought them to deal -leniently with me, “Knowing, ma’am, how -generous you and the gentleman always are.”</p> - -<p>I didn’t respond to the hint.</p> - -<p>Just at this point he made an opportunity to -suggest that in view of the shocking workmanship -revealed in the pipes outside, it would -certainly be wise of me to have the pipes overhauled -all through the house, because one could -never tell when one might burst without a -moment’s notice, and a flood of water ruin -everything. It would only necessitate his -taking up the floors in the dining-room and the -study and the hall and the kitchens and the -greenhouse next the house, and possibly a landing -and bath-room and dressing-room upstairs. -As it was, the pipes might be leaking terribly -under the ground-floors already, disseminating -damp and disease throughout the house (though -the servants and I were particularly healthy at -the time). There was a terrible amount of -illness about, he continued; next door to him a -little boy had whooping-cough, and the local<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> -undertaker, a friend of his, had just told him -trade had never been better; although they -were working day and night they could hardly -manage to execute all the orders. Of course, -all this was primarily due to damp.</p> - -<p>Even as he spoke he pressed his ample foot -so heavily on the hall floor, that but for a stout -linoleum I feel sure he would have gone through; -then he said it looked to him very much as -though dry rot had set in there already, and -it would probably be necessary to re-floor -the hall.</p> - -<p>In vain I reminded him that it had rained -without cessation—so far as my distraught -memory served me—for the past eighteen months, -hence <i>dry</i> rot would seem little short of a miracle. -But he only looked at me in that pitying way -builders do when any feminine owner of property -ventures a remark; and he next asked if I had -noticed signs of damp anywhere in the upstairs -room? After all, the upstairs pipes might be -leaking too.</p> - -<p>Then I remembered, and I told him there -undoubtedly was damp upstairs, now he mentioned -it, one patch about two feet square, and -another smaller one. He was instantly alert, -said it would certainly be one of the pipes leading -from the cistern; most dangerous, too, for you -never knew when the whole cistern might be -flowing down over everything. So I took him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> -up and showed him the big wet patches on a -ceiling, one dripping with a melancholy hollow -sound into a zinc bath Abigail had placed below; -they were on the ceiling directly under that -portion of the roof where his men had played -golf each morning, the cistern being in another -part of the house, and no pipes were anywhere -near.</p> - -<p>He became silent, and I left him meditating, -while I went down to see Virginia, who had -come in.</p> - -<p>“Ursula and I have been making plans for -you,” she began, “as you seem too distracted to -make any for yourself.”</p> - -<p>“Distracted! I should think I am; so would -you be if you had the cheerful prospect of a -cistern emptying itself on top of you at any -moment—that is to say, if it ever gets full again—and -the whole of the downstairs floor to come -up, and dry-rot in the hall, and the Law down -on you because you’ve been harbouring an alien -stop-cock, and exactly a pint of water in the -house (apart from that which is coming in -through the roof, of course), and whooping-cough -and a watery grave just ahead of you, and -the undertaker too busy to bury you!”</p> - -<p>“Just listen to me,” she said soothingly. -“You are probably not aware that you have got -the back of your skirt fastened somewhere about -your left hip, and the braiding that ought to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> -down the centre in front, is just at your right -hand. Now when a woman puts on her clothes -like <i>that</i>, it’s a sure sign she needs a little rest. -Therefore I’m going to take you right off to -the cottage first thing to-morrow morning; I’ve -told Eileen to be ready; and Ursula is coming -in here to assume charge of affairs till such time -as those amiable British workmen see fit to -remove themselves.”</p> - -<p>I protested that I was far too necessary to -the well-being of London to be spared at the -moment, and widespread havoc would result if -I left town at this juncture. By way of reply, -she asked if I would take some linen blouses -with me, as well as my thicker things, in case -the weather turned warmer? And then she -summoned Abigail to help her do my packing.</p> - -<p>Next morning, as I was being tenderly -placed in the one and only cab our suburb -now possesses, the whole battalion of workmen, -embroidered and otherwise, paused respectfully -in the midst of further excavations and a vastly -extended scheme of earthworks they had started -upon; and I saw a look on the face of the Chief -Official that plainly said he considered they were -removing me to an asylum none too soon!</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>IV<br /> - -<small>The Hill-Side Trail</small></h2> - - -<p class="unindent">Eileen didn’t say much on the journey, save -an occasional burst of ecstasy when she saw a -rabbit sitting up and washing its face. It was -interesting to watch the Devonshire ancestry -looking out through eyes that hitherto had seen -little but the sordid grey-brown grime of London, -but were now drinking in everything on that loveliest -of English lines—and where can you equal -the G.W.R. for beautiful scenery, combined -with such good carriage springs, such courteous -officials, and such always-attentive guards?</p> - -<p>Owing to the accommodating character of -the Time Table, as re-arranged by our paternal -government, there was no Wye Valley connection, -and we had some time to wait at Chepstow. -We went into the hotel and I ordered a meal, -Eileen choosing fried ham and eggs as the -greatest flight of luxury to which her mind could -soar. I admit it was reckless extravagance for -war-time, but Virginia and I, to say nothing of -Eileen, were cold and hungry, and really one -can’t be held accountable for one’s actions under -such circumstances. It was a noble dish when -it came, enough for five people.</p> - -<p>When Eileen had cleared her first helping,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> -she merely gazed at me with a seraphic smile, -still clutching her knife and fork. I asked if she -would like any more?</p> - -<p>“No, thank you, ma’am,” she replied, in the -most polite company style. But seeing her eyes -still on the dish, I pressed her to have another -slice; I knew she would have several hours of -keen fresh air before we could get our next -meal.</p> - -<p>She leant a little towards me, her knife and -fork held upright on the table the while. “Well, -it’s like this,” she said, in a loud stage whisper, -that sent a ripple over the few people who were -in the coffee room. “Does you have to pay for -it whether you eats it or not?”</p> - -<p>I nodded.</p> - -<p>“Then I <i>will</i> have some more, thank you,” -and she heaved a sigh of deep contentment.</p> - -<p>Perhaps it was as well Abigail didn’t come!</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The drive from the station to my cottage -seemed to be through one long vista of sweet -odours.</p> - -<p>Up to Monmouth the Wye is a tidal river, -and the water was rushing up, backed by a -strong wind, bringing with it, faint but unmistakable, -the salt tang of the sea, that seems all -the more delicious when it has swept over woods -and meadows and ploughed fields.</p> - -<p>As we left the river bank and started the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> -long uphill climb, the scent of the newly-turned -earth became more and more insistent -as one passed stray farms and cottages, where -the most was being made of the little bright -sunshine.</p> - -<p>Although it was only the end of February, -the brave bit of sunshine had stirred in the -larches thoughts of coming spring, and already -there was a suspicion of the resinous odour that -is one of their many delightful characteristics.</p> - -<p>But it would be impossible to name even a -fraction of the perfumes that were floating about -that day: everything in Nature had responded -to the welcome sun-warmth; and incense was -rising from myriads of leaf-buds, closely sheathed -as yet; from uncountable armies of grass blades; -from flowering moss, and uncurling ferns, and -bursting acorns; from the hundreds of thousands -of catkins swinging on the hazels; from primroses -pushing up pink stems and yellow blossoms -in sheltered corners, where they had been protected -by drifts of dead leaves. And probably -the leaves of the wild hyacinths, now an inch or -so above ground, had brought up some of the -sweet earth-scents from below; likewise the blue-green -leaves of the daffodils just poking through -the soil, and the snowdrop spears, whose white -flowers were nodding in big patches in orchards -and front gardens. And it is certain that some -early violets were hiding under their leaves.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></p> - -<p>It is noticeable that while the scents of -autumn are often strong and bitter, the scents -of spring are usually delicate and sweet.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It seems to me that in time we town-dwellers -will lose our sense of smell! The odours that -pervade our cities are so surpassingly abominable, -that in sheer self-defence we have to “turn off -our nose,” if you know what I mean by that; -we are getting to smell as little as possible, just -as we are getting to breathe as little as possible, -owing to the vitiated air of the great crowded -centres; with the result that we seem to -be losing our power to smell sensitively and -keenly, as well as our power to breathe -deeply.</p> - -<p>In town, the winds and the seasons seem only -distinguishable by the grade of one’s underwear. -Outer garments are no guide, for in December -and January one meets bare chests in the public -thoroughfares and transparent gowns indoors; -while in August, with equal suitability, we trim -a chiffon blouse with fur! (and, by the way, it is -instructive to recall the fact that it was a German -Court dressmaker who first set going the inappropriate, -vulgar, inartistic fashion of trimming frail -transparent dress materials with fur).</p> - -<p>If you live in clean fresh air, however, you -know the seasons by their odours, and it is -possible to distinguish with absolute certainty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> -the four winds of heaven by their scent, just as -at sea you can smell land, or an iceberg, before -it is anywhere within sight.</p> - -<p>The scent of the east wind is entirely different -from the scent of the north wind, though both -are cold and penetrating. In the same way, -the scent of growing bracken—for instance—is -entirely different from the scent of moss. But -it takes time for the town-dweller to be able to -distinguish between the more subtle of the -thousand fragrances that Nature flings broadcast -about the countryside, so blunted is the -sense of smell by the coarse reek of dirt, -and petrol, and chemicals, and smoke, and over-breathed -poisoned atmosphere that does duty for -“air” in the modern centres of civilisation.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Virginia was vowing that she could actually -smell the salmon in the river, when we entered -the village; at the same time, the fish cart that -makes a weekly tour of these hills was standing -outside the “New Inn” (dated 1724). I omitted -to draw her attention to the coincidence, because -at that moment the lady of the post-office stepped -out into the road and waved a telegram at our -approaching steed.</p> - -<p>It was from the Head of Affairs, briefly -stating that he had returned home, safe and -sound, that he would soon have the little mess -cleared up, and that I need not worry.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span></p> - -<p>Naturally, my inclination was to turn round -there and then, get back home as soon as possible, -and fall on his overcoat; but Virginia reminded -me that there was no train returning that day, -and if there were, we should probably only cross -one another on the road—in accordance with my -usual method of meeting people.</p> - -<p>So I went on, a huge load having been lifted -from my brain. I am sufficiently out-of-date -and weak-minded to be profoundly thankful -when the Head of Affairs steps in and re-adjusts -my always-very-much-in-a-tangle affairs, and sets -them on a business-like basis again: and knowing -his capability to deal both with mind and matter, -I didn’t worry another moment, though I was -sceptical about any speedy clearing up of the -mess!</p> - -<p>And because my heart was lighter, I seemed -to see so many things I had not noticed before. -In every sheltered corner shoots were showing, -and green things starting from the earth—and -every shoot set one’s mind running on ahead to -the things that were yet to be. I have heard -people deplore the fact that human nature is so -prone to anticipate events; I have been told -that the reason animals live such a placid, contented -life, is because they only concentrate on -the present. It may be so; but personally, I -wouldn’t be without my anticipations, even -though it may mean a loss of placidity.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p> - -<p>The commandment is to take no <i>anxious</i> -thought for the morrow; there is nothing said -against looking ahead for happiness.</p> - -<p>And a wander among our hills and along -our lanes on a mild February day, means that -in addition to the loveliness of early spring, you -sense the beauty of summer—and much more -besides.</p> - -<p>Every soft, grey-green shoot on the tangled -honeysuckle stems sets you thinking of the yellow, -rosy-tinged blossoms that will fill the long -summer evenings with fragrance; every crimson -thorn and bursting leaf on the wild rose, tells of -far-flung branches that will arch the hedges and -flush them with pale-pink flowers later on; the -rosettes of foxglove leaves on the roadside banks -remind you of the bells that will be ringing all -along the lanes when summer sets in.</p> - -<p>And although the fresh green of all the -courageous little things that have braved the -winds and peeped forth, is exquisite enough in -itself to satisfy that eternal craving of the -human heart for something fresh from the Hand -of God, yet the promise that each proclaims -carries one into further realms of loveliness, and -conjures up visions that can never be put down -in black and white.</p> - -<p>One dimly understands how impossible was -the task St. John set himself when he tried to -describe the glimpse that was permitted him of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> -the City not made with hands. He wrote of -gold, and pearls, and crystal, and inexhaustible -gems—yet these are but cold, lifeless things, and -the list of them leaves us unmoved. With all -the words at his command, with all the similes -he could muster, nothing brings us so near a -conception of that vision as his indication of the -Divine understanding of poor human needs, and -the promise of a fuller, richer life, freed from -earthly disadvantages and with nothing to sever -us from God.</p> - -<p>At a time like the present, when souls -innumerable are bearing silent sorrows, and the -whole earth is scarred with the iron hoof of the -Prussian beast, how much more to us than all -the radiance of topaz, jacinth, sapphire and -amethyst is the assurance—“There shall be no -more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither -shall there be any more pain . . . and there -shall be no more curse: but the Throne of God -and of the Lamb shall be in it; and His servants -shall serve Him: and they shall see His Face.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>At this season of new-bursting life we, too, -catch a glimpse of the Beyond, and underlying -all our delight in the material beauty of spring, -is there not the still deeper joy arising from the -promise it brings of greater beauty yet unfulfilled—beauty -that transcends all earthly imaginings? -The heart, whether conscious of it or not,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> -assuredly finds comfort in the reminder of the -Resurrection that Nature whispers wheresoever -we may turn.</p> - -<p>It is no mere haphazard chance that Easter -falls about the time of the blossoming of the -bare blackthorn bough.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>One very satisfying feature of the landscape, -about this part of the river side, is the sight of -the cottages, yellow-washed or white, that seem -literally to nestle in the hollows on the hillside. -While crowded streets hold no charm for me, -and modern mansions leave me unmoved, there -is something very appealing about a little homestead -standing in its own bit of garden, with its -couple of beehives beside a towering sunflower, -its few gnarled apple trees, its cow and hayrick -maybe, if there is a bit of pasture land about the -cottage that has been redeemed by the hardest -of labour from the rocky hillside, its fowls -clucking about on the fringe of the small -holding, its wood pile, its cabbages and marrows -and rhubarb and black currants, all according to -the season, its hedge draped with washing—too -white ever to have come into touch with that -modern improvement the steam laundry. In -looking at all this, you are looking for the most -part at the total worldly wealth of the cottager, -wealth, too, that has often been acquired by the -genuine sweat of his (and her) brow. It may<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> -not seem much to you when you run your eye -over it; but it speaks of home in a way that no -city dwelling has ever yet attained to. Here is -not merely shelter, or just a place wherein to -spend the night; it is the very centre of life to -the inmates; the major portion of their food is -either growing in, or running about, the garden. -The side of bacon on the rack in the kitchen -came from their own pigsty; the potatoes, the -onions, the swedes in the outhouse grew from -their own planting; the big yellow vegetable -marrows hanging up in the kitchen, and the pots -of black currant and plum jam in the cupboard, -originated in their garden. The little plot is -endeared to them because it provides them with -the necessities of life, and the dwellers in the -cottages live very close to the fundamental -things that really matter, even though they may -lack some of the items that over-civilization has -ticketed the refinements of life.</p> - -<p>And after a winter in town spent in a stern -wrestle for coal, potatoes, butter and milk and -bacon and many of the other necessities of life, -it is bliss indeed to land in this haven of sufficiency, -where queues are unknown, and where -the cow and the hen do their duty in life each -according to her station, and the garden and the -forests do much of the rest!</p> - -<p>Even then, one has not gone to the root of -the matter. Many of these cottages are the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> -ancestral homes of the people who live in them, -homes that were literally wrested from the hillside -by the forefathers of those who are now -living in them. And in such cases the roots go -far deeper than the surface soil. An ancestral -home, no matter how small, can mean more to -the inmates than the most gorgeous pile that -the newly-rich millionaire can raise.</p> - -<p>And to my mind, by no means the least of -the many hideous sins for which the Germans -will ultimately be called to account at the -world’s Bar of Justice, will be the violation of -the homes, the landmarks, and the ancient birthrights -of unoffending peoples, while they themselves -sat smug and sanctimonious under their -own vines and fig trees, self-complacent in the -knowledge that they were protected from -deserved retribution by their devil-driven guns.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>When at last we reached the little white -gate, leading into the cottage garden, we stood -for a moment, as we always do, and looked at -the peak beyond peak, and the deep lying -valleys.</p> - -<p>Sloping away from our very feet were our -own orchards and coppices, the bright lichen on -the twisted old apple trees showing almost a -blue-green against the purple of the bare birch -tree branches still lower down.</p> - -<p>The sun was dropping behind the larches<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> -that ridged the opposite hills. Birds everywhere -were explaining to each other that they must—they -really <i>must</i>—set about house-hunting the -very first thing in the morning.</p> - -<p>Out in the lane, the mountain spring was -over-full and singing a riotous song of jubilation -as it tumbled out of the little wooden trough -into the pool below, and tore away down into -the valley.</p> - -<p>“It’s a marvellous world,” said Virginia as -we gazed at the vast panorama that stretched -before us; and then she added, “Do you know, -I’ve come to the conclusion that I prefer a -spring of water outside the gate to all the stop-cocks -and water-mains in the world.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Next morning a letter from the Head of -Affairs skipped airily over the episode of his -meeting with the builder, concentrating on the -point that I was to stay where I was, as he -would join me in a few days. But Ursula -supplied the missing details.</p> - -<p>“After I saw you off at Paddington,” she -wrote, “I hurried back as fast as I could; I felt -that I should at least like to see if the four -outside walls remained of what was once your -happy home. Because, though we didn’t let -you know, the builder confided to me, as you -were leaving, that he had discovered the whole -front of the house was in a most shocking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> -condition, necessitating prompt ‘shoring-up’ -(whatever that may mean), and requiring to be -underpinned immediately. But by the time I -reached the place where your gates ought to have -been—but weren’t—I found the Head of Affairs -(he’d sent a wire as soon as he landed in -England, but it evidently never reached you) -bestowing as much gratuitous eloquence on the -builder and the Water Company as would have -run an election. What did he say? Why, -everything that is in the English language, and -in a hundred different keys! Sometimes he -singled out some separate ‘official,’ and gave it -him, personally, in considerable detail.</p> - -<p>“His analysis of the private character of the -builder was nothing short of an epic; and as for -the turncock!—what he said about turncocks -was a revelation to an unsuspecting ratepayer -like myself—No, it might be as well not to -repeat it; but I feel sure that turncock won’t -call, with a long double knock, for a Christmas-box -next December. Indeed, his remarks on -the mental capacity of every single person -employed by the Water Company lead me to -think that your family won’t be really popular -with the Metropolitan Water Board for some -time to come!</p> - -<p>“And then, when he had said everything -that could possibly be said about each man -standing there, and about water and pipes and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> -stop-cocks and gravel and pavement and suchlike -things, he announced his intention of going on -the roof to inspect where the builder proposed -to put the pile of new slates.</p> - -<p>“Now it’s a funny thing, but that builder was -not nearly so pressing that he should go up and -see for himself, as he was when talking to you. -But he insisted, and once up, he started all over -again, and made such forceful comments on the -subject of slates—and more especially the men -who put on the slates—that I was afraid they -would come through the roof.</p> - -<p>“Well, I don’t think I ever saw a more -wilted-looking blossom than that builder when -he was finally had inside and given his marching -orders. Even before the two had descended -from the roof, the embroidered men were -hurriedly toppling the earth back into the -trenches. I believe they’ve had twenty-four -hours allowed them to get things put to rights -again. And I think they will hurry, for they -don’t seem anxious for more of the master’s -society than is absolutely necessary. At any -rate, he seemed quite able to manage matters -without any assistance from me, and so I left it -in his hands, and I’m coming down by the -next train.”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>V<br /> - -<small>Just Outside the -Back-Door</small></h2> - - -<p class="unindent">There is one spot in the Flower-Patch that is -loved by grown-ups as well as birds. It is the -little grotto that is just outside the cottage back-door. -It has made itself by making the best of -circumstances. Can I describe it so that you -will see it, I wonder?</p> - -<p>First there comes a narrow garden bed, -full of old-fashioned flowers—Bee-balm, Jacob’s -Ladder, and Solomon’s Seal; then a rough stone -wall about two feet high keeps the earth above -from tumbling down on to the narrow bed below. -The whole of the garden being on a steeply -sloping hillside, the earth has to be propped up -at intervals by these lovely little ranks of natural -rockery, planted by Nature with hart’s-tongue -and a variety of other little ferns, with mother-of-millions -and creeping ivy, with stone-crop and -house-leeks. How <i>do</i> the things get there? How -do they plant themselves? Isn’t it marvellous -this unending gardening of Nature!</p> - -<p>On a level with the top of the low wall is -another garden bed. You see the ground is rising, -rising up to the clouds all the time at the back<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> -of the cottage, just as it is falling, falling down -to the river in the valley all the time in front of -the cottage. This next terrace bed loses itself -entirely in a miniature wild wood and drops -down into a tiny dell, just big enough for a -couple of small children to give a tea-party to -the fairies in.</p> - -<p>Here it is that the beauty of the whole place -seems to climax. The other side of the dell is -bounded by a large grey boulder, about six feet -high, flanked by a few smaller ones tumbling -about at various angles. The stone was too big -for the original gardener to move, so he wisely -left it where it was. They often do that on -these hills. I know one cottage that has a most -substantial stone table in the centre of the -kitchen. It is just a huge stone that was too -big to move by ordinary methods when they -erected the cottage, and so they simply left it, -and built the kitchen round it.</p> - -<p>But my boulder in the grotto is not so much -for use as for beauty. True, it supports a plum -tree that springs up from behind it, just outside -the orchard rails. But the way Nature has -festooned that rock is worth going a long way -to study. From the ground at one side springs -a wild rose with stout stems that grow fairly -straight and erect, considering it is a wild rose, -and this sends out long curved and arched sprays, -dotted with pink blossoms.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p> - -<p>At the other side is a yellow jasmine, evidently -a stray from the garden.</p> - -<p>The stone itself is thickly covered with moss, -small-leaved ivy (and isn’t small-leaved ivy lovely -in its colouring very often, in the early months -of the year, some brown and yellow, some red -and green?) and little ferns, till scarcely a trace -of the grey stone can be seen, and where it does -push through it is splashed with milky-green -lichen.</p> - -<p>Then wandering over all is a wealth of honeysuckle -that catches hold of everything impartially, -and twines itself in all directions. At the base -of the precipitous boulder the grass is thick and -green; violets, the big purple-blue scented sort, -cluster all around the corners, and hold up rich-looking -blossoms; primroses laugh out in the -sunshine; snowdrops dingle their bells to a -delightful melody, if only our ears were more -delicately tuned to catch the music; daffodils -blow their own trumpets above their clumps of -blue-green leaves; the ground-ivy creeps and -creeps and lights up the green with its lovely -blue flowers that have never received half the -praise that is their due. And in a damp spot -there is a mass of blue forget-me-nots, with one -clump that is pure white.</p> - -<p>Large ferns send up giant fronds to make -cool shadows at one end. Tiny ferns busy themselves -with the decoration of odd corners. A<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> -hazel bush reaches over and joins hands with the -plum tree, to form a fitting roof to so lovely a -dell; as I write—in February—it is a mass of -fluttering catkins, and the plum tree is talking -about shaking out a few flowers. But without -these the place is already full of blossoms.</p> - -<p>In a month or six weeks the old trees in the -orchard behind will be like bouquets of pink and -white blossoms.</p> - -<p>You approach the grotto by a tiny path, -about wide enough for a child; the entrance to -the path is marked by a stunted old bush of -lavender at one side, and a grey-green clump of -sage at the other. They stand, with stems -twisted and rugged like gnomes, guarding the -entrance to the fairy’s playground; but if you -rub them the right way they send up a lovely -fragrance, and then you know you are admitted -to the freedom of the enchanted spot.</p> - -<p>It is so sheltered in this corner, and protected -from the cold winds by the high hill behind, that -even the ferns from last year are green and -fresh-looking, you would think there had not -been any winter here. And the brambles that -clamber over the orchard rail—assuring the world -at large that they are a highly respectable -orchard-grown fruit tree, and not a wild weed—are -still green and crimson and a rich purple -with the lovely tints of last autumn.</p> - -<p>The birds are fond of this grotto, and other<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> -wild things have found it out. Last summer, -when the boulder seemed to be dripping with -large juicy crimson honeysuckle berries, I watched -a big bullfinch gorging to his heart’s content, his -red waistcoat mingling well with the red of the -berries. Mrs. Bullfinch was also there, in her -less obtrusive grey and browny-black dress, and -she had a couple of youngsters too. But do -you think the father had any intention of sharing -the delicacies? Not a bit of it! Every time -his wife approached from the rear surreptitiously -to snatch a berry, he turned round and drove -her off (I really could have pardoned her if she -had joined the suffragettes on the spot). She -ranged her family along the orchard rail just -above, and made various attempts to forage for -them. But it was no use. So she took up her -position beside the family on the rail and waited -patiently, making plaintive sounds the while, -till Mr. Bully had stuffed to repletion and flew -away. I was glad there were a few hundred -berries still left for the family. And didn’t they -have a good time!</p> - -<p>Just now the blue tits are very busy about -the fruit trees, and a robin comes out from somewhere -in the grotto at unexpected moments and -stands motionless on a stone, with a bright eye -cocked up inquiringly at the human intruder. -I fancy he has chosen it for his summer residence.</p> - -<p>A squirrel is very attached to this part of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> -the garden. Sometimes one sees him, when the -nuts are ripe, scurrying along the orchard rail in -ever such a hurry, his chestnut-red tail bigger -than himself. There are specially good nuts on -that hazel-tree.</p> - -<p>This morning I went out of the back-door, -to find a large rabbit sitting and sunning himself -at his ease among the snowdrops and violets in -the little dell—within a yard of the door.</p> - -<p>The weather has been like April to-day, -brilliant sunshine and heavy showers. Suddenly -the sky behind the cottage was lit up with a -rainbow—a glorious span of colour that seemed -to be resting on the hill-top. Then it dropped -a bit lower at one end, and the big pine trees -that stand higher up at the top of the orchard -looked most majestic against it. Lower it -seemed to drop, and then I distinctly saw the -place where it touched the ground. You know -they say there is a pot of gold buried at the end -of the rainbow—where do you think that rainbow -pointed? Why, straight at my fairy dell! -So I know there is gold buried under that -boulder, and that is why there is always sunshine -peeping through the green; first it comes out in -the yellow jasmine, then it flares in the daffodils, -later you find it in the dancing buttercups and -in the lovely honeysuckle, finally it waves to -you a bright “Good-bye, Summer,” in the clump -of golden-rod that is near the entrance.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>VI<br /> - -<small>Dwellers in the -Flower-Patch</small></h2> - - -<p class="unindent">February on our hills may be anything—from -September round to May. Sometimes it is -mild and sunny and sweet with the scent of -newly-turned earth; or it may be bitingly cold, -and very bleak in the exposed parts, with a -shivery-ness even in the valleys. You just take -your chance, sure, at least, of fresh air, peace—and -the birds.</p> - -<p>That is one of the perennial joys of the place; -summer or winter you know there will be a host -of little fluttering things all ready to welcome -you as a friend, if you will but show the least -bit of friendliness towards them.</p> - -<p>Not that their greeting is entirely cordial -when you arrive. The starlings are probably -the first to see you; they are arrant busybodies, -and seem to spend most of their time retailing -gossip from the ridge of the red-tiled roof. No -wonder their nests are the lazy make-shifts -they are!</p> - -<p>A perfect scandal to the bird world, Mrs. -Missel-Thrush has told me; it’s a wonder the -sanitary authorities don’t insist on their being -pulled down and rebuilt! Anything, stuffed in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> -anywhere; a handful of straw in the chimney; -dried grass and oddments of rubbish collected in -a corner under the tiles; you wouldn’t think any -self-respecting egg would consent to be hatched -out in such a nest!—certainly no young thrush -would put up with so disreputable a nursery. -But then, as we all know, the thrushes come of -very good family; whereas the starlings!—well—not -that one would say a word against one’s -neighbours, but since everyone can see and hear -it for themselves, the starlings are simply -“impossible.”</p> - -<p>But the starlings don’t seem to be the least -bit worried by the cold shoulder of the more -exclusive residents; they gabble and bawl the -whole day long, from the top of the roof, while -the one who has managed to secure the apex of -the weathercock is positively insulting. And -the moment we turn into the little white gate, -they begin.</p> - -<p>“See who’s down there? I say, everybody, -look! There’s that wretched white dog again! -Remember what a perfect nuisance he was last -August, when we’d just got the youngsters out -of the nest? We were afraid every moment -lest he would start to climb the trees like their -old cat used to. Hi! there, you on the barn-roof! -Have you heard the news?” Shriek, -shriek! chatter, chatter, chatter! So they go -on for hours at a time.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p> - -<p>Then policeman-robin arrives. “What’s all -this noise about?” he demands, from the post of -the gate leading into the upper orchard. “Oh, -good gracious! it’s that horrid white dog again! -Nearly shoved his nose right into our nest in the -woodruff bank last year! Chit! chit! chit! -But don’t you worry, my dear” (this to the lady -he has just married); “I’ll drive him away; you -can trust to me,” and he flicks his conceited -little tail, and flies to the top of a tree stump -near by, still calling out his “Chit! chit! chit!” -in severe reprimand.</p> - -<p>Next the blackbird, hunting for a little fresh -meat among the grey, mossed-over stones that -edge the garden beds, raises his head and cranes -his neck above the overhanging heart’s-ease -trails, and the foliage of the pinks, to see what -the commotion is all about.</p> - -<p>“I say, Martha!” (to the demure body in -brown, who has been meekly tracking along -behind him), “there’s that terror of a dog again! -Recollect when he was here last year? Never a -chance to enjoy a snail in peace; before you’d -given the shell more than one tap on the stone, -down he’d rush. Here he comes now! Slip -along quick to the laurels. I say, that was a -near shave! Chut! chut! chut! Go away! -What business have you to come here disturbing -respectable old inhabitants like us?”</p> - -<p>And so the hubbub continues, while the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> -small white dog with the brown ears trots in a -business-like manner all over the place, making -sure that every corner-stone, and bush, and -gate-post is just where he left it last time. And -having ascertained that the universe is still -intact, he sets off to a particular spot in the -lower orchard, sniffs about till he finds the identical -tuft of grass he is searching for; whereupon -he eats, and eats, at the long green blades, much -in the same way as we fall on the young lettuces, -or the black currants, or whatever else may be -in season when we come down. Though why -this particular tuft of grass should be the only -one he selects out of the acres and acres at his -disposal, is always a mystery to us. Yet he -never forgets it; straight for that small patch in -the middle of the big orchard he makes, once he -has done his tour of inspection round the estate.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Before I have been in the house half-an-hour, -I start making overtures to the birds, and they -immediately respond. I proceed by way of the -bird-board.</p> - -<p>This may need explanation.</p> - -<p>Outside one of the living-room windows I -have established a board that projects about a -foot beyond the wide window-ledge. At first I -had it resting on the window-ledge, but I found -that the birds were down out of sight, when -they came up to feed, hidden by the sash and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> -window-frame. Therefore I had it raised to -bring it exactly on a level with the glass. It -is fixed securely on supports, so that it won’t -blow away, neither would a flock of jays and -wood-pigeons overbalance it. A couple of stout -bits of tree branches have been fixed upright at -the sides; these are very popular, as they make -the board look less bare, more tree-like and -familiar to the birds. They love to alight on -a branch, before going down to feed, and they -often return to the branch when they have eaten -their fill, saucing their relations and daring them -to touch a morsel of the food, which each bird -seems to consider its own exclusive property! -Strips of narrow lath have been nailed to the -outside edges of the board, projecting about -an inch above the level of the board. This -wooden rim saves the food from rolling off, or -blowing away too easily; it also gives the birds -a little perch that they love to stand on while -they run their eyes over the menu.</p> - -<p>On this board—in times of plenty—go -crumbs, seed, rolled oats, maize, peas, little bits -of fat or suet, anything in fact that birds will -eat; and if the weather be cold, a lump of suet -will be lashed to each branch, for the tits to -peck at, with occasional bunches of bacon rind, -hanging like tassels.</p> - -<p>In war-time the birds just have to take what -they can get.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p> - -<p>Within twenty-four hours of our arrival, the -birds have re-discovered their food board, and -over they come, from garden and adjoining -orchards and woods, with such a whirring of -wings, directly they hear the window being -opened. In the apple tree, in the laburnum tree, -in the damson tree they wait, and the moment I -move away from the window, down they pounce, -and such a squabbling and chatter and succession -of arguments takes place. In a few days’ -time, as they get more used to me, they flutter -down before I have even spread out their meal, -perching on the edge of the board and eyeing -me with the most audacious nerve. The robin -is positively impudent in his demand that I -should hurry up!</p> - -<p>And it is not longer than a week before they -come hopping right into the room, hunting all -over the breakfast table if the window be left -open, and I have not been down sufficiently -early to meet their requirements. If the days -are cold, and outside food scarce, they tap the -window sharply with their beaks, to call attention -to their needs, while plaintive, appealing little -faces look anxiously at me.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>And oh, they are such a pretty little crowd. -One has no idea what clear, beautifully bright -colour our British birds can show, unless one -has seen them right away from the taint of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> -smoke and grime. Town environments, be they -ever so rural, are always reminiscent of the -chimneys in the distance, or the railways that -cut them up. But on these hills, where cottage -chimneys are very few and far between, and -what smoke there is, is usually wood smoke, -some of the birds are exceedingly lovely.</p> - -<p>There is the great-tit, brilliantly yellow as a -daffodil, with an admixture of black velvet and -pure white; he and his wife quite take your -breath away as they splash down, out of space, -and flitter about among the sober thrushes and -darker blackbirds. And when, in the summer, -they bring their babies along with them, I -don’t think there is a prettier sight in creation -than the little bluey-grey balls of fluff, that -peck daintily at the bits of suet, and then hiss -vigorously and scold at the big wasps that come -and steal it from under their very beaks! So -tame and innocent of fear they are, that they -come into the room whenever the window is left -open; and mother and father follow them, quite -as trustfully.</p> - -<p>Then again, we all think we know the blue-tit; -but when you see him in the wilds he is a -very different-looking morsel from the dirty-blue -apology you meet nearer town. On the -bird-board, he is almost metallic in the brightness -of his blue-green feathers, and the lovely -tint of yellow. He raises his crest feathers, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> -pleasure, when he sees the suet on the branch; -and over the little acrobat goes, hanging head -downwards or clinging with one tiny claw to a -piece of twig; it is all one to him, he swings -about like a bright enamel pendant.</p> - -<p>The male chaffinch is another very gay little -fellow, with his warm red and pretty blue and -yellow. He calls “Spink, spink,” in clear -penetrating notes, as he lands on the board; and -up comes his wife—one of the most shapely and -elegant of all the small birds, with the dearest -little face!</p> - -<p>Mr. and Mrs. Bullfinch invariably come -together, unless she is detained at home with the -family. They perch on the edge of the drinking -saucer, side by side, like a pair of solemn -paroquets; he, very beautiful in crimson and -black velvet; she, decidedly more homely and -nondescript.</p> - -<p>But I can’t go through the whole list, there -is such a crowd—including a little flock of eight -goldfinches that for two winters have always -been about the garden together.</p> - -<p>Jays, with their handsome wing feathers and -ugly, very ugly, mouths, swoop down continually, -scaring the small birds to vanishing point, and -gobbling up the food by the shovelful! Magpies -in plenty perch on the garden rails, but only -once has one come to the board when I have -been there, and then he got his tail so mixed up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> -with the decorative branches, that he had the -fright of his life, and never repeated the -adventure.</p> - -<p>Wood pigeons are regular in their attendance, -when other food is scarce. Oh, certainly, I -know all that is to be said on the subject of -encouraging wood pigeons! But—have you -ever studied the peacock and wine-colour gleam -on their necks, when unsmirched by smoke or -grime? If so, you will understand my admiration -for them. And, in any case, ours isn’t a -farming area; there is no corn here for them to -squander, and although they sigh all summer -long, in the fir trees, “Take <i>two</i> pears, Tommy! -Take <i>two</i> pears, Tommy!—<i>do!</i>” there are very -few pears available that Tommy would even look -at; most that grow in the orchards around are -the harsh, bitter variety, used for making the -drink known as “perry” (the pear equivalent of -apple cider).</p> - -<p>The wood pigeons have helped me back to -health and strength many a time, with their soft -crooning in the larches, and their quiet talk of -things above the petty strife and noisy clamour -of the struggling market place. Therefore, I -don’t say them nay, in times of plenty, if I have -a little to spare, and they chance to need it.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Of all the bird family, however, I think the -coal-tits are our favourites—and there are <i>such</i> a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> -quantity of them. Coal-tits always abound in -the neighbourhood of larch woods and birches, -which accounts for the numbers that dart about -my garden; there are birch woods lower down -the hill below the cottage, as well as the larch -woods up above; and both birch and larch -cluster thick down one side of the house to -shield it from the cold winds.</p> - -<p>Though the coal-tit is not brightly-coloured, -like its relations, there is something very -delightful about his soft grey garb, and his -black head with its light grey or nearly white -streak down the back. Like the robin, he -always looks well-tailored, not a feather out of -place, not a draggled filament anywhere. And -he is so extraordinarily alert; he doesn’t seem to -give himself time to fly, he darts and dives and -flits all over the place, and seems to have an -appetite proportionately equal to that of the -proverbial alderman.</p> - -<p>Down he dives the minute the food appears. -He stands very erect on his slim little legs (no -squatting down on his breast bone, as the -sparrows and even the chaffinches often do); -he cocks his head from side to side, promptly -decides on the largest lump of fat he can find; -seizes it, and flies up into a big fir tree, where, -apparently, he bolts the whole lump instantaneously! -At any rate, before you have time -to see where he alighted, down he dives, seizes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> -another big piece, and off he goes again. He -seems to eat twice his own size in suet in a few -minutes! But I conclude he must drop some -of it, though I’ve never been able to prove it. -And the theory of a nestful of hungry beaks -doesn’t always explain his voraciousness; for he -disposes of just as much in the winter as in -nesting time.</p> - -<p>Yet, in spite of his appetite, we love him, for -he is so tiny and so wonderfully alert; one -marvels how so much energy can be boxed up -in such a small body.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Visitors who have never had much to do -with birds at close quarters—and the birds may -be said to be part of the family at this cottage, -for they live with us and meal with us—are -usually surprised at the differences and the -distinctiveness of their various personalities.</p> - -<p>The robin not only adopts you at once, but -he proceeds to supervise your every action, and -instals himself as your personal attendant. -Probably this is all the more emphasized by the -fact that he will not allow any rival to encroach -on his particular territory. Most birds seem to -peg out a claim at the beginning of the season, -and to resent, more or less, the intrusion of any -other of its own kind. Swallows and sparrows -and rooks, and a few others, build in colonies, -but the majority of birds seem to prefer a little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> -domain each to himself, wife and family, and -you will find one pair of blackbirds driving -another from the laurel bush they have chosen, -or chasing strangers from the particular garden -path they call their own.</p> - -<p>Though starlings feed—and chatter—in flocks, -one particular pair of starlings make it their -business to oust any other starling that they find -on the bird board.</p> - -<p>But the robin can be a perfect terror in the -way he seeks to domineer over the whole earth. -It is a very large area that he marks off for his -individual own, and woe betide any other robin -who tries to defy him—unless he be the stronger -of the two. One of our robins killed his own -wife (we conclude, as she disappeared, after a -series of thrashings he gave her daily!), and then -he injured the wing of one of his own youngsters, -because we had petted them, and given them -food inside the living room.</p> - -<p>The father used to hide behind a stone down -on the garden bed, and watch as his family—the -mother and two babies—nervously and timidly -approached the bird-board, looking round -anxiously lest father should see! Then, when -they started to feed, he would hiss out the -dreadfullest of wicked words at them, and fling -himself on them, bashing them with his beak—a -positive little fury.</p> - -<p>So one day I put some food on the table<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> -inside the room, and the down-trodden ones -hopped in. I shut the window before the irate -father could follow them. He seemed demented -with rage, when he saw them feeding and -couldn’t get at them; he literally stamped his -foot, and viciously tossed off all the pieces of -food that were on the board, flinging them to -the ground in a most highly-glazed specimen of -temper!</p> - -<p>I let the family out by a side window, -instead of the bird-board window, and they -evaded their loving and affectionate relative for -a little while. But he found them at last; and -went for his wife, while the children cheeped -forlornly among the pansies in the border. We -never saw her again, poor, plucky little soul; -and one of the youngsters dragged a broken -wing along the path next day, explaining to me, -pitifully, that he couldn’t possibly get up to the -bird-board now, neither could he find mother -anywhere.</p> - -<p>I took him in, and tried to save his life—but -it was no use. With all our knowledge and -skill and discoveries and training, what clumsy, -inadequate creatures we are in comparison with -a little mother bird!</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Less harrowing was the incident of a robin -who, on one occasion, came inside, in order to -get more than his share of provender if possible,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> -when he was suddenly startled by the dog -running into the room. Instead of flying -through the window that was open, he made -for a closed one, banging his head with such -force against the glass that the blow stunned -him, and he fell senseless to the ground.</p> - -<p>I picked him up, and tried all the restoratives -I could think of, a drop of water on his beak, a -cold splash on his head, but to no purpose; he -lay, just a tiny handful of beautiful feathers, in -my hand; so light, so helpless, so altogether -pathetic—it hurt me badly to gaze at the small -mite that only the minute before had been -talking to me, and cheeking me, and liking me -(yes, I am sure he did), and I unable now to do -a thing to bring back the gaiety and life and -sparkle to the poor still body.</p> - -<p>I felt sure he was dead, yet to give him every -chance, I placed him in a nest of soft flannel -out on the window-ledge; the day was warm, -but there was a breeze that might perhaps revive -him. And as a last offering—one does so try to -do all one can!—I put a tempting piece of suet -near his inanimate beak. And how unnatural it -seemed to see that suet remain untouched in his -vicinity!</p> - -<p>I took my work and sat where I could see -if he so much as stirred a claw. But for a -quarter of an hour there wasn’t the slightest -sign of movement, except when the wind gently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> -ruffled his feathers—and how exquisite they -were, the blue so unlike the ordinary blue, the -red much more red than the London robins, and -the bronze-brown so glinting.</p> - -<p>At last I decided it was useless to watch any -longer, for his eyelids had never so much as -flickered.</p> - -<p>I was folding up my work, when a big -yellow tit flew on to the window ledge, hopped -over inquiringly to the suet, and started to -sample it. In an instant up jumped the corpse, -and with an angry “Chit! chit!” hurled himself -at the interloper; and the last I saw of him -was chasing the yellow tit all across the garden.</p> - -<p>Don’t ask me to explain; I am only telling -you what happened under my own eyes.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Yes, robin <i>père</i> can be a villain; he also can -be the extreme reverse. Like the majority of -the rest of us, he shows to the most amiable -advantage when there is no rival to distract -public admiration. So long as he is the centre, -as well as the beginning and the end, of the bird -universe, he is sweetness itself.</p> - -<p>No other bird is so keenly alive to all my -comings and goings. It doesn’t matter how -fully occupied he may be with the settlement of -every other bird’s affairs, I have but to go up -the garden with fork or spade or broom, and -before I have turned half-a-dozen clods, or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> -pulled out a handful of weeds, I am conscious of -a soft streak through the air, though I hardly -see it; there he sits on a low branch of a currant -bush close to my hand, or stands motionless on -an edging stone at my very feet. If I take no -notice of him, in all probability he starts a -Whisper Song to call attention to himself.</p> - -<p>Have you ever heard this? It suggests -nothing so much as elf-land music; I know no -song exactly like it. You seem to hear a bird -warbling most delightfully, but it is far, far -away. You raise your eyes, and scan the trees -around, but no singing bird can you discover; -you decide it must be farther off—but what a -haunting charm there is about it.</p> - -<p>Then it ceases. Mr. Robin is hoping that -you have understood what he has been saying. -But no, the obtuse human just goes on weeding -the path as before; so the Whisper Song starts -again. This time you think it resembles a very -mellow musical box shut up in some distant -room.</p> - -<p>Suddenly you see him, singing straight at -you, so close to your hand that it gives you quite -an uncanny feeling for the moment; and you -wonder: Who is he—what is he—that he should -be saying all this to me, obviously to me, and to -no one else but me?</p> - -<p>Robin doesn’t encourage you in daydreams, -however, he means business; and once he sees<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> -that he has secured your undivided attention, he -discards the Whisper Song and comes to the -point. Down on to the path he drops, seizes an -unwary worm that your energy has brought to -light; then tosses it over scornfully and flirts a -contemptuous tail, which says as plainly as any -tale that was ever told, “Is <i>that</i> the best worm -you can offer a gentleman? Pouf!”</p> - -<p>He eats it nevertheless.</p> - -<p>And so he follows me round the place; I -never garden alone. If at first I cannot see -him, I whistle a quiet call; invariably I hear the -Whisper Song in response, and there he is—waiting, -watching, missing nothing, with his -tiny throat feathers vibrating and quivering as -he strives to let me into bird-land secrets, and -tells me lots and lots of wonderful things that as -yet I am too dull-witted to understand.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Then there are the blackbirds—for individuality -they are hard to beat; though I admit they -are always reproving someone or something, with -their “Chutter, chut, chut!”</p> - -<p>I never knew a bird with as many grudges -and grievances as Augustus seems to have. He -“chut-chuts” at me if I’m late with his breakfast, -at Abigail when she ventures to gather a -few raspberries, at the dog whenever he sees -him, at the little colt for scampering down the -meadow, at the cuckoo when his voice breaks—I’ve<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> -heard him get up after all the family had -gone to bed, and roundly abuse a poor July -cuckoo who had developed a bad stutter—and -every night about sundown he admonishes the -world in general, from his pulpit in a pine, -despite the fact that Martha has put the children -to bed and is trying to get them to sleep, and -that every other masculine blackbird for acres -round is discoursing on the same subject.</p> - -<p>But the poor thing has had his troubles. -The first time we really distinguished Augustus -and Martha (who monopolise my bedroom -window ledge, and the pinks and pansy border) -from Claude and Juliet (who patronise the -biggest mountain ash, and consider the white -and red currants and the snails in the snapdragon -bed their particular perquisites) was -when the former (that means Augustus and -Martha, you know) built in the old plum tree -that hangs partly over the green and gold -grotto. Though it has plenty of snowy-white -flowers on its dark stems in the spring, it has -been too neglected to produce much fruit; -but it makes up in flowering ivy and heavenly-scented -honeysuckle for any other deficiencies. -And it was in this tangled mass of loveliness -that Augustus and Martha first set up housekeeping. -(Augustus being always recognizable -by reason of one grey feather.)</p> - -<p>They chose it with much circumspection—Martha<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> -with an eye to the easy building -facilities offered by strands of tough woodbine, -and sturdy ivy cables, combined with stout -plum branches; Augustus with his main eye -focussed on the bird-board, and the other on the -accessibility of the bird-bath (originally a sheep-trough -hollowed out of a block of rough stone, -over which moss and small ivy are now trailing).</p> - -<p>Altogether it was a most desirable site for a -young couple. They were in full view of the -side window in the living room, and we watched -them flying in and out, to and fro, with beaks -laden with grass and straw and similar materials -for household decorations.</p> - -<p>Later on, when two youngsters were hatched, -there were the same endless journeyings, the -same loaded beaks. But here Augustus’s perspicacity -stood him in good stead; it was a very -short flight from the plum tree down to the -bird-board, and the pair must have nearly worn -the air out, judging by the number of times -they made the trip!</p> - -<p>The tragedy happened when the youngsters -were nearly ready to leave the nest. And the -sad part of it was that we saw it all enacted before -our eyes, and yet were powerless to prevent it.</p> - -<p>We had just sat down to our mid-day meal; -the day seemed all blue sky and bright flowers -and gladdening sunshine—the very last day one -ought to have met trouble.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span></p> - -<p>Augustus had gone off to give Claude a -piece of his mind that must have been owing for -some time, judging by the heat and length of -his harangue; Martha was gathering up the -biggest mouthful she could manage (and it is -astonishing how they will collect several pieces -of bread, a piece of fat and a flake of oatmeal, -packing it up securely in their beak, in order to -carry it safely).</p> - -<p>I saw a big bird swoop down on to the -branch beside the nest; but big birds are so -plentiful with us, it conveyed nothing out of the -ordinary to me. It looked like a shrike, but I -couldn’t be certain. Everything happened so -quickly. It seized one of the little ones, killed -it outright with one vicious toss, while the -other baby called out in wild terror.</p> - -<p>In far less time than it takes me to write this, -the whole air seemed teeming with screaming -blackbirds, dozens of them. They went for the -murderer, trying to attack him with their beaks; -but he flew off into the woods, followed by a -crowd of threatening and bewailing birds; one -could hear them in the distance when they were -no longer in sight.</p> - -<p>Of course we had all rushed out into the -garden; but we could do nothing; the nest was -too high up to be reached without a ladder.</p> - -<p>Then an unusual silence fell over the -garden; the majority of the birds having joined<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> -the crowd of pursuers. It is strange how -we all bury our hatchets in face of a common -danger!</p> - -<p>It seemed almost death-like for the moment, -till, from the top of a larch, a chaffinch bubbled -forth. At least there was one happy bird left. -Then I bethought me about baby-blackbird No. 2. -The villain had only carried off one. We got a -ladder, but no bird was in the nest!</p> - -<p>We decided it must have fallen out in the -scrimmage, and searched carefully. After a -while we found it, helpless and terrified, among -the ferns, just where it had fallen, in the grotto.</p> - -<p>As it didn’t seem able to walk or fly, we left -it there, and sat down to watch events. Back -came poor Martha presently. She looked in -the nest, then flew distractedly about. But I -suppose the baby was too dazed with fright to -do a thing, at any rate it never uttered a sound -or call; and the distressed mother flew off again -to the woods on her hopeless quest.</p> - -<p>We remained on watch the whole afternoon -and evening; but neither parent returned. -Then I began to get anxious. I put a little -food near the frightened crouching thing, but -it took no notice. Only once it gave a piteous -cry; how I wished it would keep it up! That -at least would surely reach the mother in time. -But it didn’t repeat the call.</p> - -<p>At last we had to go in, because it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> -getting dark, and every bird but our poor little -baby was safely in bed. We tried to console -ourselves by saying that it would probably be -all right, and it was wonderful how birds survived -all sorts of dangers. But, all the same, -we none of us believed we should ever see him -again; and we shook our heads silently next -morning, when we found an empty space under -the ferns, where we had left him overnight.</p> - -<p>During the day, my suspicions were aroused -by the fact that Augustus returned again and -again to the bird-board and stuffed his beak full -of provender, which he carried off in the good -old way. But the moment I tried to follow -him, he merely went into a near-by tree, and -tried to say “Chut! chut!” with his mouth full!</p> - -<p>It took me all the afternoon, and used up all -the stealth and cautiousness I possess, to track -him. He would not fly any more than he could -help; he kept right down on the ground, -running along with his head slightly lowered, -keeping close to the shadow of the wall, slipping -under hedges and low growths, always looking -about from side to side, standing stock still -when he scented danger—in this way he got up -the hill, and right across a field, to where a big -Wellingtonia stands like a pyramid, against a -stone wall, its outspreading branches drooping -protectingly, and hiding all sorts of secrets in its -dark green depths.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span></p> - -<p>Behold, there was Martha, anxiously waiting -on the doorstep, so to speak, for Augustus to -return. She was as cautious in her movements -as he was, but she couldn’t help uttering a low -“Chut! chut!” of pleasure when she saw his -beak so crammed with good things. Both -slipped in under the lowest branch.</p> - -<p>I bided my time. I didn’t want to add one -single extra anxiety to the little mother heart -that was already so burdened with care. But -when at length I saw both birds slink off in -search of food, I parted the branches and looked -in. For some time I could see nothing, it was -so dark and mysterious under the heavily plumed -boughs, but the little one had learnt to use its -voice by now; “Cheep” came vigorously from -within; and then I saw our baby comfortably -ensconced on a drift of pine needles against -the wall.</p> - -<p>I slipped away quietly, wondering and wondering -how in the world those little birds had -managed to get that fat youngster up that hill -and into the tree that was fully three minutes’ -walk, even for me, from the old nest!</p> - -<p>The baby flourished apace, and before we -returned to town, it was brought along to the -pansy border, and told to stay there quite still -for a moment, while mother got it something to -eat. But it didn’t do anything of the sort; -directly her back was turned, it hopped into the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> -bird’s bath, and splashed joyously till its expostulating -parents returned, alarmed out of -their senses lest it should be drowned!</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>After thinking it over, I fancy that for all-round -serviceability you cannot do better than -the blackbird. He starts singing in January, -as a rule, and keeps at it till August, always a -beautiful song, but not always the same song.</p> - -<p>It is a clear-blue message of hope, as it rings -out on a cold winter’s day.</p> - -<p>As the spring progresses, it becomes a -cascade that overflows with bubbling sound and -ends with a challenge: “Let any blackbird dare -to say he can sing that cadenza as brilliantly as -I can, and I’ll know the reason why!”</p> - -<p>Later on, when the nestlings keep up a -constant demand for “more,” he only manages -to get in an occasional stanza; and that, I am -inclined to think, is when he has a difference of -opinion with another of his kind; though sometimes -he sings a rippling, pulsating song to the -setting sun.</p> - -<p>But best of all I love him when the summer -has run well on into July. He is getting tired -then; two families—possibly with four in the -nest at a time—are something of a handful to -cater for. He has become draggled and weary -in appearance. His yellow-ringed eyes do not -seem as sparkling as they were. But he still<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> -tries to do his best, and towards sundown you -may hear him singing; one of those in my -garden seems to have a preference for an underbough -on a tall pine, where he stands almost -hidden from sight, and whistles gently and -softly—though not to me personally, as the robin -does; apparently he is talking to himself.</p> - -<p>Gone is the buoyancy of his early spring -song; gone the self-assertiveness, the boastfulness -and dominating clamour of his early married -life. Now, his song is much subdued, gentler, -and strangely suggestive of a quiet, almost -saddened reminiscence.</p> - -<p>Is it that his family have failed to come up -to his expectations? Is his song tinged with -regret for the lost happiness of those first -glad days of spring? Or is it the reflection -of the tranquillity that comes to those who -bravely shouldered life’s responsibility when -the time came for leaving behind the things of -youth?</p> - -<p>Who knows what that subdued but exquisite -little song means, as it falls, like a rain of soft, -gentle sounds from the branches above?</p> - -<p>I cannot tell, but it stirs something strangely -responsive in my own heart; I sense far-back -things that I cannot take hold of, or put into -tangible shape, and for the moment I feel -mysteriously akin to the unseen singer in the -blue-green depths of the old and rugged pine.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>VII<br /> - -<small>Only Small Talk</small></h2> - - -<p class="unindent"><span class="smcap">I seem</span> to have wandered a long way from -Eileen, but it was really she who brought the -birds to my mind.</p> - -<p>I got up early the morning after our arrival, -in order to show her the way about, and because -it is not one of my daily duties to be the first -down in the morning, I noticed all the more how -the opening of the doors and windows, to let in -the day, is something much more than the mere -undoing of locks and latches. There is nothing -to compare with the inrush of sweet morning -air that greets you on the threshold, as you take -your first look-out on a dew-sparkling garden, -probably all alive with the songs and chirps and -twitters of the birds, and teeming with the -scents of things seen and unseen, each pouring -forth its gratitude in its own way for the ever-new -miracle of the sun’s return.</p> - -<p>This letting in of light and clean air, sunshine, -song and scent, after the inanimate -darkness of the night, is so wonderfully symbolic -that it seems a mistake that it has come to be -regarded as one of the inferior domestic tasks, relegated -to the minor members of the household. -And though I am not one of those exceptionally<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> -virtuous people who habitually rise at six o’clock, -waking every one else within earshot and taking -vain pride in their performances, whenever I -chance to be the first one to welcome the -morning and let in the day, I feel there are -decided compensations for the wrench of getting -out of bed minus a cup of tea.</p> - -<p>I also realize how easy it is, in the flush of -exhilaration produced by the early morning air, -to make oneself a nuisance to all who are less -energetic. For some unaccountable reason, -when I am down extra early, I always want to -bustle about, and do all sorts of rackety things -that never occur to me on the days when I -do not put in an appearance till breakfast is -ready.</p> - -<p>I had opened the windows in the living-room, -and had set Eileen to make the fire, and was -seeing to things in the kitchen, when she -followed me with an excited squawk: “Oh, -ma’am, there’s somebody has lost their canary! -It was on the window ledge just now, and it’s -flown into a tree. Have you got a bird-cage -handy? I expect I could catch it. There it is -again”—pointing to a handsome yellow and -black tit who was pecking eagerly at some -bacon rind I had just hung up outside the -window.</p> - -<p>I explained.</p> - -<p>“Wild, is he? <i>Wild?</i>” she exclaimed;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> -“and don’t they charge you nothing for -them?”</p> - -<p>She finished the room with one eye perpetually -on the windows.</p> - -<p>Having a healthy appetite, that had been -touched up a little extra with the hill-top air, -she was more than willing to help me get the -meal ready. I made the usual preliminary -inquiries as to her experience in regard to cooking, -and was surprised to hear that she had -actually won a silver medal at a Cookery Exhibition.</p> - -<p>Surely this was unexpected good fortune, and -I asked myself if I really deserved such a heaven-sent -boon as a silver-medalled cook! I decided, -however, that in view of all I had undergone in -the past at the hands of those who were not so -decorated, it was nothing more than my due -that I should be so blessed in my declining -years. My only regret was that war-time would -allow so little scope for her genius!</p> - -<p>Feeling very light-hearted, and wondering -how she would get on with Abigail when cook -gave one of her periodical notices and I placed -Eileen on the permanent staff, I said: “Then I -needn’t bother about the breakfast! We will -have poached eggs on toast. I’ll lay the cloth -while you get them ready.”</p> - -<p>But she looked at me doubtfully. “We -didn’t ever have <i>poached</i> eggs at the boarding-house,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> -she began. “But I think I know how -to do ’em. You just break them on the gridiron -over the top of the fire, don’t you?”</p> - -<p>After all, it was I who poached the eggs, -while Eileen explained that the medal had been -awarded to the cookery class at the orphanage -<i>en bloc</i>, for making a Swiss roll. . . . No, unfortunately, -she didn’t know how to make Swiss -roll either, as she had been down with scarlet -fever that term. Still, it was her class that got -the medal, so of course she had as much right to -it as anyone else.</p> - -<p>I trust I bore the disappointment complacently. -I’m fairly hardened to such sudden -drops in the kitchen thermometer.</p> - -<p>The great thing about Eileen was her willingness, -and her anxiety to learn.</p> - -<p>When I was seeking to impart knowledge, -however, she seemed to think it was for her also -to contribute some general information. Hence -our duologues often ran on these lines:—</p> - -<p>“When you make the tea or coffee, be sure -that the water is <i>quite</i> boiling; or else——”</p> - -<p>“Yes, ma’am. Do you know, one of the -young gentlemen where I used to live, couldn’t -help being bald, no matter if he used a whole -bottle of hair restorer every day. It ran in his -fambly.”</p> - -<p>“Really! Well, now we’ll fry some bacon. -You put a little of the bacon fat from this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> -jar into the pan first of all to get hot. Like -this.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, ma’am. Isn’t it strange, grandmother -won’t never have red roses in her bonnet. Can’t -bear red.”</p> - -<p>She also excelled in asking questions; from -morn till eve life seemed one long series of conundrums -which I was expected to answer. I never -realized before how many queries country life -presents; hitherto it had seemed to me such a -simple, straightforward state of existence.</p> - -<p>An old man had been secured to do an -occasional odd day’s work (at highest London -prices). He described some misfortune that, -last autumn, had befallen “Hussy,” the cow who -comes for change of air into my orchard at -intervals—an apple she had eaten (one of mine, -of course) being blamed for the fact that her -milk turned off, “like vinegar ’twas.”</p> - -<p>Eileen—in common with every other young -human under twenty years of age—thrilled at -the word apple, and inquired if “Hussy” had -stolen it off a tree?</p> - -<p>“Stolen it off a tree!” scoffed the man; -“and why should she bother to creek her neck -up’ards when they was lying by the thousand -as thick on the ground in that thur orchard as—as—well, -as apples!”</p> - -<p>Eileen looked incredulous.</p> - -<p>“Yes, by the thousand they was, and not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> -wuth picking up, no one wanted ’em; no men -to make cider; no sugar to jam ’em; child’un -all got colic a’ready as bad as bad could be, -couldn’t swaller no more; too damp to keep. -Ay, and we that short o’ cider as we be!” And -the aged one—who had been coining money -hand over fist, with letter carrying, and the sale -of eggs and poultry, and a couple of pigs, and the -hay in his paddock, to say nothing of gilt-edged -easy little jobs waiting for him all about the -place at any price per hour he cared to charge, -and old age pensions paid regularly to himself -and wife—paused to shake his head and sigh -over the misfortunes of the times.</p> - -<p>Eileen was likewise moved. To think of it—unwanted -apples! And no one to eat them! -She reverted to the phenomenon several times -that day, with such queries as these:—If eating -one apple turns the cow’s milk to vinegar, would -eating fifty turn it to cider? If so, wouldn’t it -be cheaper to make the cow grow cider, as the -old man said cider had riz to 7<i>d.</i> a quart, and -milk was only 6<i>d.</i> You would then make a -penny a quart profit that you could put into -the Savings Bank to help the War.</p> - -<p>After watching some vegecultural operations -she inquired: “Why is it, when he puts potatoes -in the ground and beans in the ground all the -same way, the beans come out at the top of the -plant and the potatoes come out at the bottom?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p> - -<p>Another time it was: “What do they use -the sting of the nettle for?” And when she -had enlarged her garden vocabulary, she inquired: -“Is a spider an annual or a perennial?”</p> - -<p>“I can’t find a tap out there to turn off the -water,” and she indicated the spring outside the -gate, tumbling out of a little wooden trough -wedged in among the rocks, into a pool below. -“I suppose they stop it at the main. What -time do they turn it off? . . . <i>Never?</i> It runs -like that always! Then how long is it before -the whole lot runs away and it’s all dried up? -And don’t they ever come down on you for -wasting the water?”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Yet more accomplished people than Eileen -have often surprised one by their ignorance. -An experienced and supposed-to-be-highly-qualified -cook came to me one day with the sad -news that we couldn’t have any stuffing with the -duck for dinner that day as there wasn’t a single -bottle of herbs in the house. I reminded her -that there was an almost unlimited amount of -everything in the garden, including a sage -bush growing on a wall that now measures -15 feet by 6 feet. “In the garden?” she -repeated in surprise. “But I didn’t know it -was good unless it was bottled! You don’t -mean that country people use those things -raw?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p> - -<p>I felt such an apologetic cannibal as I explained!</p> - -<p>She it was who split up the chopping board -to light the fire, the first morning after her -arrival, because she couldn’t find a bundle of -firewood anywhere. On being referred to the -stack of dry kindling wood in the coal shed—she -had never heard of lighting fires with trees -before; never thought, indeed, to live with a -family that expected you to do such things!</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>On one occasion, when I was in one of the -largest and poorest of the London Elementary -Schools, where the children looked as pitifully -sordid and poverty-stricken as I have ever seen -them, I asked a few questions of one small girl -in the front row of a class. Her outside dress -consisted of an old dilapidated waistcoat worn -over a dingy flannelette nightgown, while a -ragged piece of serge fastened around the waist -with a safety-pin did duty for a skirt. But she -was only one among a classful of rags and -tatters.</p> - -<p>“What is your name?” I asked, by way of -starting conversation.</p> - -<p>“Victorine,” the forlorn-looking little thing -replied.</p> - -<p>“And what is your lesson about?” I then -inquired.</p> - -<p>“Therdelfykorrickul,” she informed me.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span></p> - -<p>Seeing the bewildered look on my face, the -head mistress, who was showing me round, said, -“Enunciate your words more carefully, Victorine, -and speak slowly.”</p> - -<p>Victorine understood what “speak slowly” -meant, and so she said very deliberately, “The—Delphic—Horricul.”</p> - -<p>“So you are learning about the Delphic -Oracle. And what are you going to do when -you grow up?” was my next query.</p> - -<p>“I’m going to work in the laundry like -muvver!”</p> - -<p>We went into another classroom; here more -ragged unwashed clothes greeted me on every -hand. I had no need to ask the subject of the -lesson, for the girls were facing a blackboard -on which was written “The Characteristics of -Shelley’s Poetry.”</p> - -<p>After I had seen more tatters in a third -room, where a lesson was being given on “Infinitive -Verbs,” I said to the head mistress, “If -I had this school, do you know what I should -do? I should take a class at a time, and give -out needles and cotton, and tell them to do the -best they could to sew up the rags in their -dresses and their pinafores. I would not mind -if they did not put on patches even to a thread -in the regulation way, so long as they made -some attempt to run together those rents and -slits and yawning gaps. I would let the other<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> -lessons go till this was done. And I would not -let a girl take her place in a class in the morning -till she had mended as well as she could any -rents she had worn to school.”</p> - -<p>The head mistress shook her head. “That -would not be practical; you see, it isn’t in the -Syllabus.”</p> - -<p>I don’t pretend to understand the inwardness -of syllabuses, but I couldn’t help wondering if -there wasn’t an opening here for a new one. -While so much unpractical stuff is taught to the -poorer classes in elementary schools, is it any -wonder that the children know so little of the -things appertaining to daily life?</p> - -<p>Eileen didn’t exactly suffer from rags. She -was as neat and patched and wholesome as her -clean, sensible grandmother could make her; -but she was forlorn-looking to the last degree. -One of the first things I tried to do was to get -her to take a little pride in her personal appearance. -And it was wonderful how she responded. -With her hair released from the uncompromising, -tight screw that had been kept in place by three -big iron-looking hair-pins, and done higher up, -and more loosely over the forehead, and a pretty -collar and blue bow for her Sunday blouse, she -looked a different being.</p> - -<p>“Poor little thing, she has never had a soul -take any interest in how she looks,” Ursula remarked -to me. “And even though we’re not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> -allowed to cast our bread upon the waters, -nowadays, they haven’t said anything officially -about ribbons.” And so we searched our drawers -for suitable finery that might bring a little colour -into Eileen’s hitherto drab outlook. Virginia -followed suit, remarking that she liked to scatter -little seeds of kindness by the wayside, since you -never know what may result.</p> - -<p>True! She didn’t!</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, Eileen gloated over the odds and -ends, fixing weird and crazy-looking bows to her -black sailor hat, draping her shoulders with bits -of lace to see if they would make a collar, and -standing in front of the kitchen glass trying the -effect of pinks and purples under her chin.</p> - -<p>For a time, the questions ceased.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>VIII<br /> - -<small>A Cold Snap</small></h2> - - -<p class="unindent"><span class="smcap">For</span> a couple of days the sun was radiant, and -the air actually warm. We agreed with each -other that Italy and the South of France weren’t -in it.</p> - -<p>We started gardening with all the zest of -backwoods-women, who know that the only -vegetables they can hope for are those they -themselves grow. Unlike the majority of Londoners, -the War had not added much to our -knowledge in this direction. I had not owned -a house in the country many months before I -learnt the value of first-hand home production. -Hence, when the allotment fever set in, we -were quite able to keep pace with the rest of the -world despite our failing intellects. The only -thing that differentiated us from the remainder -of our fellow-citizens in the Metropolis, was the -fact that we appeared to be the only ones who -did not feel themselves competent to bestow -unlimited information and advice, in season and -out of season, to all and sundry, on every -imaginable and unimaginable point connected -with the raising of food crops.</p> - -<p>One of the many reasons for the charm that -envelops our life at the hillside cottage lies in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> -the fact that it brings us much closer to the -fundamental principle of keeping alive than is -ever possible in town with its over-civilization. -Of course, it isn’t desirable that our mental and -spiritual interests should centre in the question -of what we shall eat and what we shall drink, -and wherewithal shall we keep warm and comfortable, -but I think a woman suffers a distinct -loss when she eliminates these matters entirely -from her horizon.</p> - -<p>I know, from personal experience, that there -comes a period in our lives when we women feel -that there are much higher enterprises beckoning -us, that we (individually, not collectively) -are called to do some work in the world that is -far greater than seeing to meals, and keeping -the household machinery moving unobtrusively -and with regularity; but it is fortunate that -there eventually returns to us (if we are properly -balanced) a realization that some of our very -best work can be put into the making of a -home, and that far from it being narrow and -sordid and selfish to devote a large part of ourselves -to household administration, it is in -reality one of the widest spheres that a woman -can choose, and one that will give her the -biggest scope for bringing happiness and -strength and health to others—and, after all, -isn’t that the avowed aim of the most advanced -of modern feminists?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span></p> - -<p>Still, I admit that our cramped surroundings -and jaded, strained existence in cities do not -always make a round of domestic duties seem -alluring to the woman who has to cram her -belongings and her aspirations into a small -modern flat, or who has to do her cooking in -one of the unhealthy, sunless basements that -prevail in the older houses in towns. A woman -needs fresh air, sunshine and a garden if the best -is to be brought out of her. Oh, yes, I know -some few women have done great things without -one or another of these items—but probably -they would have done still more if they had had -the opportunity to come to their full development -under more favourable circumstances.</p> - -<p>I’m not surprised that women, whose existence -is limited by the narrow environment of -towns, so continually beat the air with a longing -to do something more than seems possible in -the flat or dull suburban villa. Civilization has -taken out of their hands so many of the useful -occupations that formerly kept women busy—and -worthily busy too; and it is not to be wondered -at that they cry out for something to do, -and invent Causes on which to expend their zeal -and energy. The preparation of food, the -laundry work, and indeed most household duties -are now done for us in cities on the “penny-in-the-slot” -principle (only we have to put a -shilling in the slot, as a rule, for the pennyworth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> -of result that we receive); and it is small -wonder that so few of us can work up any -interest in the process.</p> - -<p>But how are matters to be altered? you ask -me. I don’t know! Pray don’t think I’m -proposing to find solutions for grave problems -in these stories! I’m only giving you a record -of facts, just simple everyday little happenings -“of no value to anyone save the owner.” And -we’ll leave it at that, if you don’t mind, and -return to the garden.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Before the War labour was not so scarce, -and there was no need for us to plant the vegetables -ourselves, unless we desired to do so. -Now, however, one’s own personal work was a -valuable asset, and we put our backs into it—at -least Ursula and I did; Virginia was engaged -most of the time in describing the sort of tools -she would make, if she were in that line of -business, to obviate the grave spinal trouble she -was certain she was developing.</p> - -<p>I don’t mean to imply that Virginia isn’t a -good gardener; she can be an excellent one -when she likes, for she knows what gardening -really stands for in the way of hard work. -Whereas some of my would-be assistant gardeners -seem to think the chief requisites are a -comfortable hammock and a book; or, at most, -a “picture” muslin frock and a pretty basket<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> -and a pair of baby scissors. Such girls remind -me of many who write and inquire if I have a -vacancy for a sub-editor in my office, the chief -qualification stated in their letters being that -they “do so love to browse among books.”</p> - -<p>Virginia isn’t like that; she puts on a -business-like garb, and knows—and annexes—a -good tool when she sees it. But it is her bright -ideas that are the hindrance to progress. She -wasted ten minutes that morning explaining to -me that she was sure, if I would only have -turnips planted in the mint bed, it would be -another war economy, as the mint flavour might -permeate the turnips, and thus save double -expense with lamb.</p> - -<p>And then another ten minutes went in -enlarging on the grasping nature of the makers -of gardening gloves in not supplying four pairs -of extra thumbs with each pair, since any intelligent -gardener could wear out eight thumbs -with one pair in the simplest day’s gardening. -She offered to let me use the idea free of charge -in my magazine, if I would undertake to keep -her supplied with gardening gloves for the rest -of her natural life; but she stipulated that they -must be proper leather ones, not the four-and-sixpenny -war variety she was then wearing, -composed of unbleached calico, with merely a -chamois postage-stamp stuck on the front of -each finger and thumb.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p> - -<p>In the intervals of conversation she aided us -with our digging, yet, in spite of the National -Call to spend as much on seed potatoes as -would keep the family in vegetables for a couple -of years, we continually found ourselves drifting -away from the ground we were trenching, for -the violets were already out, also some early -primroses, and little white stars were showing -on the wild strawberry trails in sheltered corners -under walls that faced south.</p> - -<p>And the garden is full of sheltered nooks, -despite its being so high up. As the ground -slopes towards the south, every wall that props -up the garden—and there are so many, like -giant steps down the steep hillside—gives protection -from the cold winds to the little growing -things that nestle in every crevice and on the -ground below. Everywhere the pennywort was -sending out clear green disks from the mysterious -depths of crannies in the wall. Crocuses were -showing orange buds in the garden beds. One -precocious pansy held up a white flower, streaked -and splashed with purple.</p> - -<p>“Spring has really come,” we all chorused. -And oh, how good it seemed to be done with -the winter; such a winter too! Surely the -longest and most awful winter humanity has -ever known!</p> - -<p>With spring and summer immediately before -us, as it seemed, we decided to leave the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> -trenching just for that day, and explore the -lanes and woods. The lichens and mosses were -at the height of their beauty—a beauty that -would fade once the sun got any power. The -wall-stones were splashed with browns and -greys, rust-colour and orange, black and olive, -and one particular lichen that is our especial joy -tints the stone a milky pea-green shade that is -unlike any other colour I can recall.</p> - -<p>Last year’s bramble leaves were purple and -scarlet and crimson and yellow. Where the -small ivy creeping up the walls had been touched -by the frost, it had turned a vivid yellow mottled -with warm brown and crimson. And it is surprising, -once you take note of it, how much -crimson is used by Nature where you would -expect to find only green; and not merely a -dull red, it is a brilliant, vivid carmine that is -dropped about in quiet, unsuspected places, -lighting up dark patches, emphasizing sombre -details that one might otherwise overlook.</p> - -<p>We were turning over a handful of brown -leaves under an oak tree in the wood; there we -found the streak of crimson showing inside an -acorn that had just burst to let out a young -shoot that was seeking about for roothold below -and light up above. Not only one, but hundreds -of similar brilliant touches were scattered about -where the fertile acorns lay among the moss -and last year’s fern.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p> - -<p>In one secluded spot, where the cold had not -been severe enough to wither last year’s foliage -on the undergrowth, long sprays of ground ivy, -climbing over a fallen branch, had turned to -deep wine colour, stems and all, and lay, as -Eileen said, “beautiful enough for one of them -lovely wreaths of leaves they put round best -hats.” Certainly it looked more artificial than -natural, if one didn’t happen to know that -ground ivy often takes on this tint in its -declining days.</p> - -<p>Thanks to Tennyson, we all know that -rosy plumelets tuft the larch; but it doesn’t -matter how many times you see them, they are -always worth looking at—and marvelling at—again.</p> - -<p>And there seems no limit to the crimson -splashes. Is there anything anywhere that can -compare with the Herb Robert, its leaves far -more radiant than its blossoms; or the leaves of -the evening primrose when they start to fade -at the bottom of the stem; or the waning -foliage of the sorrel?</p> - -<p>To make a list of the crimson touches (as -distinct from the reddish-brown) that one finds -on stems and foliage any day in the country, -would be a revelation to most of us.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Though the sun had been so bright when we -started, it doesn’t do to trust too much in an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> -English spring, and we presently noticed a very -decided change; the temperature dropped with -great rapidity, as clouds came up and hid the -sun, and the hills that towered about us suddenly -loomed gloomy and forbidding. The -wind veered round from south-west to north-east; -and by evening it was piercingly, bitterly cold.</p> - -<p>Taking a last look round with the lantern -before we locked up for the night, not a sound -could be heard; everything was absolutely still, -with that unearthly silence of a land suddenly -gripped by overpowering cold. I glanced at -the thermometer hanging on the outside wall; -it already registered three degrees below freezing; -it would probably be ten before morning.</p> - -<p>We bolted the door and shut out the cold, -hoping no one was wandering lost on the hills -that night (not that anyone ever is, but it is -pleasant to have kind charitable thoughts like -that, on a bleak night, as you put yet another -log on the fire).</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Next morning, as it was colder and more -perishing than ever, I decided to cope with -several days’ arrears of office work, piling itself -up in all directions. Virginia said it was just as -well the weather necessitated our remaining -indoors, as she could now get on with <i>her</i> work. -Of course we asked: What work?</p> - -<p>She informed us that she was engaged upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> -an anthology, “Shakespeare and the Great -War.” She felt that “Shakespeare and Everything -Else” had been done pretty thoroughly—by -less competent people than herself, it is true; -but, all the same, the poet had been dealt with -exhaustively from every point of view but that -of the War. Also, the War had been dealt with, -<i>in extenso</i>, from every point of view but Shakespeare’s. -Hence, her present literary effort.</p> - -<p>And would I kindly give her any quotations -I could think of, that had any bearing on this -world-crisis.</p> - -<p>All my brain was equal to was—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“Tell me, where is fancy bred?”</p></div> - -<p>which undoubtedly indicated that the War Loaf -was known to pall on the public taste even in -Shakespeare’s time.</p> - -<p>She said she had expected me to say that, it -was so obvious. Nevertheless, I noticed she -hurriedly jotted it down.</p> - -<p>We asked her to read her MS. so far as she -had gone; it seemed a pity for us to overlap.</p> - -<p>“I’ve made a fair start,” she explained, “but -the trouble is they all turn out so awkwardly. -For instance, the first quotation I have down is—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>‘She riseth also while it is yet night, and giveth -meat to her household’</p></div> - -<p>—anyone can see Daylight Saving there——”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span></p> - -<p>Naturally, I opened my mouth to speak, but -she cut me short, testily:</p> - -<p>“Of course I know as well as you that it -isn’t Shakespeare—at least I wasn’t reared a -heathen!—but that’s just the tiresome part -of it. Every quotation I think of isn’t Shakespeare -at all. Here’s another that would do -beautifully (and take up a nice bit of space -on the page too),</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">‘The upper air burst into life!</div> -<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And a hundred fire-flags’ sheen,</span></div> -<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">To and fro they were hurried about!</span></div> -<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And to and fro, and in and out,</span></div> -<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The wan stars danced between.’</span></div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>“Even a child could tell you they were the -searchlights trying to spot a Zepp.—only it isn’t -Shakespeare! It’s very worrying. Yet I know -if only I could get the book done, there would -be a fortune in it. W. S. always sells, and he’s -so respectable too!”</p> - -<p>I said I was sorry my office duties had prior -claim on my time, and I urged Ursula to do her -sisterly part. But she said she couldn’t be -bothered just then; her mind was more than -fully occupied in trying to lay the blame for -everything on the right person.</p> - -<p>So I took Virginia’s MS. and read it down.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p class="center"> -“How full of briars is this working-day world.”<br /> -</p> - -<p>This proves that barbed wire entanglements were -known in the seventeenth century.</p> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> -<p class="center"> -“How far that little candle throws his beams!”<br /> -</p> - -<p>This indicates clearly that Shakespeare was fined -for failing to comply with the Lighting Restrictions.</p> - -<p>That he was compelled to pay War Profits out of -the “royalties” on his plays is evidenced by these -poignant words in <i>Macbeth:</i>—</p> - -<p class="center"> -“Nought’s had, all’s spent,”<br /> -</p> - -<p class="unindent">and doubtless there was a subtle reference to War -taxation in</p> - -<p>“Age cannot wither nor custom stale her infinite -variety.”</p> - -<p>The unfailing hold of Shakespeare on humanity is -the fact that he touched upon all phases of life. -(This sentence was Virginia’s own literary contribution -to the “Anthology.”) For example (she went -on), even a sugar shortage was known in his day. -To what else could he have been referring when he -wrote</p> - -<p class="center"> -“Sweet are the uses of adversity,”<br /> -</p> - -<p class="unindent">and can anyone doubt that</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“Double, double, toil and trouble,</div> -<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: .5em;">Fire burn and cauldron bubble,”</span></div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="unindent">points to meatless days?</p></div> - -<p>Here we were interrupted by a knock at the -door. It was Miss Primkins, an elderly lady -who lives by herself (or at least with Rehoboam, -her cat) in a pretty little cottage further down -the hill. Miss Primkins has been hard hit by -the War, but no matter how she has to skimp -and save in other ways, she never relaxes her -work for the wounded.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p> - -<p>And it was about her contribution to Queen -Mary’s Needlework Guild that she came up to -consult me. Not that we started there straight -away—of course not. We talked about the -shortage of sugar, and the high cost of boots, -and the scarcity of chicken food, and the price -of meat, and the difficulty of knowing how to -feed Rehoboam adequately and yet in strict -accordance with official regulations, and the -colour of the bread, and “what are we coming -to,” and other topical matters like that. Then, -when I had pressed Miss Primkins several times -to stay to our midday meal, and she had as many -times assured me that she must not stay another -minute, grateful though she was for my kind -invitation, as she had put on the potatoes to boil -before she came out, she produced (in an undertone) -a paper parcel from her bag, and with much -hesitation explained that she wanted advice on a -private matter.</p> - -<p>I was all attention.</p> - -<p>Undoing the paper, she displayed what -looked like a round bolster case made of pink -and blue striped flannelette. As she held it up -for inspection, it “flared” at the top (to use a -dressmaker’s term) with merely a small round -opening at the bottom.</p> - -<p>I glanced it over as intelligently as I knew -how, and then inquired what it was.</p> - -<p>“It’s a pyjama for a soldier,” she murmured<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> -modestly, in a very low voice. “I’ve cut it -exactly by the paper pattern, yet Miss Judson, -who saw it yesterday, says she doesn’t believe -it’s right. We’ve neither of us ever made one -before, so I thought I would run up to you -with it; you would be <i>sure</i> to know.”</p> - -<p>“Er—h’m—ah—yes,” I said, as light dawned. -“It’s all right so far as it goes; but where’s the -other leg?”</p> - -<p>“The other leg?” she echoed, “there was -only one in the pattern.”</p> - -<p>“Of course; but you should have cut it out -in double material; the garment requires two -legs, you know.”</p> - -<p>“Does it!” she exclaimed in genuine surprise. -“Why, I thought it must be intended for a -soldier who had had his other leg amputated!”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Before Virginia put away her “Anthology,” -preparatory to having lunch, she added another -quotation to her list—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“For never anything can be amiss</div> -<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">When simpleness and duty tender it,”</span></div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="unindent">and against this she scribbled, “one-legged -pyjamas”—doubtless for elucidation and amplification -at a later date. I hope I haven’t forestalled -her.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>IX<br /> - -<small>Snowdrifts</small></h2> - - -<p class="unindent"><span class="smcap">It</span> was later in the day, and the zest for Shakespeare -had waned. Virginia had moved from -beside the fire and was sitting nearer the window, -in order to get what light there was from the -sun just disappearing behind the opposite hills. -She was very busy with some crochet edging she -had lately started. It was the first time within -the memory of living woman that Virginia had -been seen with a crochet-hook in her hand—fancy-work -had never been her strong point—hence -the inordinate pride with which she patted -out the short fragment on any available surface -at frequent intervals, surveying it from different -points of view with her head cricked at various -angles, and calling upon all and sundry to admire.</p> - -<p>After moving nearer the window she again -patted out the seven small scallops on her knee, -as usual, and then became meditative. No one -paid much attention to her, however. I was -sitting on the settle, with a heaped-up table -before me, absorbed in MSS., which I was -reading, and then sorting into various piles—for -printer, for reserve, for return—and arranging -these on the seat beside me; important work, -which accounted for my preoccupation.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p> - -<p>Ursula was busily engaged in the laudable -endeavour to construct a pair of child’s knickers -out of two pairs of stocking legs. Someone had -told her this could be done. It had appealed to -her as a serviceable way to use up done-with -stockings (and she assured me the problem of -what to do with these “done-withs” had been a -long-standing mental burden), while at the same -time one might be conferring a benefit upon the -poor. The fact that the modern “poor” would -have scorned anything so economical did not -worry her.</p> - -<p>At last Virginia broke the silence. “It’s -really quite remarkable! I don’t know that I’ve -met with a more extraordinary crochet pattern -than this,” she said thoughtfully.</p> - -<p>“Where did you get it from?” I asked rather -absently, as I went on with my work.</p> - -<p>“From one of the magazines you are -supposed to edit,” she said blandly.</p> - -<p>“What is there extraordinary about it?” I -inquired, now thoroughly roused up to give the -matter all my attention, while Ursula laid down -the dislocated stocking leg she had been wrestling -with.</p> - -<p>“Well, it’s like this. There is the pattern, -you see,” pointing to a picture I had seen before, -“and there are the directions. When you’ve -worked them through once, that makes one -scallop. Do you see?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p> - -<p>We said we saw it quite plainly.</p> - -<p>“Then, you notice it says at the very end, -‘go back and repeat from the first row’? Now -this is the extraordinary part of the affair; every -time I go back and repeat from the first row it -makes an entirely different scallop. The last -time but one, you see, the scallop came on the -opposite side of the sewing-on edge; I thought -<i>that</i> was interesting enough! But now I find -this last scallop has <i>turned a corner</i>. Funny, -isn’t it?”</p> - -<p>For the first time we gave Virginia’s bit of -edging serious attention. What she had done -with those directions it was impossible to say, -but the result was certainly peculiar.</p> - -<p>“That will be a valuable piece of lace by the -time it’s finished,” I said. “What are you going -to do with it?”</p> - -<p>“I’m making it as a Christmas present for -you,” she replied sweetly. “I think it may -help to promote conversation if you display it at -your social functions. I know you’re going to -say how unselfish it is of me. I think, myself, I -mellow as I age.”</p> - -<p>“Not at all,” I replied politely, and suggested -that we should go for a walk, lest such concentrated -thinking should be too much for her.</p> - -<p>“If you’d been a properly-minded hostess -you would have proposed that long ago. I’ve -been waiting anxiously for it, only there is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> -Ursula absorbed in that outfit that no masculine -infant anywhere would recognise——”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’ve given up the knicker idea long -ago,” interrupted Ursula. “I’ve turned them -into chest-protectors for the old people in the -infirmary. And now, as a war economy, I’m -going to enlarge your vests (I neither ask for, -nor expect, gratitude!). The laundry having -shrunk them to waistbands, I shall add an -upper and a lower storey.”</p> - -<p>“—and <i>you</i> sit hour after hour reading MSS. -What are they all about? What’s that one in -your hand, for instance?”</p> - -<p>“This one,” holding up some sheets of -violently-written paper that almost burst through -the envelope, “is an anonymous letter from -some irate lady who objects to something or -someone appearing in our pages. I haven’t time -to read it, but if you care to wade through it——”</p> - -<p>“Anonymous letters are so futile.”</p> - -<p>“Anything but,” I told her. “It is always -a pleasant thing, at the end of the day, to feel -that you have, even in a slight way, contributed -to anyone’s happiness. And I’m sure the lady -who dug her pen into that anonymous letter was -very happy when she posted it. Glad am I, -therefore, to be the unworthy instrument permitted -to promote her joy!”</p> - -<p>Virginia merely snorted. “What’s the next -MS. about?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p> - -<p>“This is a very long poem on the War, and -the writer explains that she has made all the -lines run straight on in order to save paper, but -doubtless I can find out where it rhymes. It -begins ‘Hail, proud mother of nations who dwell -in these sea-girt islands for centuries past and -centuries yet to be——’”</p> - -<p>Virginia said she’d skip the rest, please, and -wasn’t there a little light fiction anywhere in -the chaos before me?</p> - -<p>“This is a story of a beautiful Russian -princess who was doomed to live in a lonely -castle, with no one but her aged and decrepit -nurse, in the very centre of a pathless Siberian -forest, hundreds of miles from everybody, until -the spell should be broken——”</p> - -<p>“What spell?” inquired Ursula.</p> - -<p>“(I don’t know—the writer doesn’t say)—until -the spell should be broken, when she would -be free. She was the most exquisite vision that -ever burst upon human sight. Not only were her -features perfect, and her hair a rippling cascade -of gold, but her dress was grace and beauty -combined.”</p> - -<p>“Then it wasn’t one of <i>this</i> season’s models!” -ejaculated Ursula, “hence it must have been -out-of-date. All the same, I’d like to know who -was her dressmaker. Did they think to mention -the name?”</p> - -<p>(“No, that is not stated.)—She used to spend<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> -her days listening to the wolves who congregated -all around the castle howling and gnashing their -horrid fangs, till one day an honest, sturdy -forester approached, and with one fell swoop -slew dozens of them. Whereupon the Princess -Elizabeth—for such was her name—opened the -door and cried, ‘Welcome, deliverer!’ and in -less time than it takes me to tell you, that aged -and decrepit nurse had prepared, all unaided, a -sumptuous wedding banquet, while gorgeously -apparelled guests arrived in battalions from nowhere. -Then, just as they were about to be -married, the honest, sturdy forester, no longer -able to conceal his identity, confessed that he -was indeed the Prince.”</p> - -<p>“What Prince?” inquired the interrupter -again.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know, and the writer doesn’t say, -and I wish you would remember, Ursula, that in -the larger proportion of MSS. sent to editors it -is customary for the writers to omit the essential -details!”</p> - -<p>“Then I’d just as soon go for a walk as hear -any more,” she said with decision.</p> - -<p>Whereupon we got into big coats and -thick gloves and tied on our hats with motor -scarfs, I don’t mean the filmy wisps one wears -when motoring in the park, but those large, -solid, thick, brown, woollen scarves that look as -though they had been made from a horse-blanket—the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> -sort that the West End window dresser in -desperation labels “dainty!” But the air was -bitingly cold, and we were so high up among the -hills, that no wraps would have been too warm -that day. Then we started off, after I had said -a final word to Eileen about the necessity for -keeping the kettle boiling, as we shouldn’t be -gone long. She had assured me many times -already that she wasn’t the least bit nervous -about being left alone—rather liked it, in fact. -She was blissfully engaged at the moment in -trying to construct a “dainty evening camisole” -(as per some penny weekly she had bought -coming down) out of the satin ribbon and lace -from Virginia’s last year’s hat.</p> - -<p>The small white dog with the brown ears -accompanied us to the gate, but decided that, -with the thermometer just where it was at that -moment, home-keeping hearts were happiest; so -he promptly returned to the hearthrug.</p> - -<p>The sun had disappeared, but there was still -light on the hill-tops, though the valley below -was fast settling down to darkness. Virginia -suggested the lantern, but I thought we should -not need it, more especially as a moon was due -immediately. So we set off at a swinging pace.</p> - -<p>Already, owing to the severity of the frost, -the roads rang like iron to our tread. Every -stalk and twig was glistening with rime and -feathered with hoar-frost. No sign of life did<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> -we see in all that walk. Where were the birds, -and squirrels, and rabbits, and pheasants, and all -the hundreds of timid wild things we were -accustomed to meet on our summer rambles? -We hoped they were safely tucked away in -barns or burrows, or sleeping in warm hayricks, -for nothing else above ground would give them -any shelter. I thought of the row of twittering -swallows that always perch themselves along the -ridge of the cottage roof on hot summer afternoons, -and felt glad they had gone off to a -warmer climate.</p> - -<p>But for ourselves, we would not have exchanged -the weather that moment for any other, -no matter how balmy. There is something -remarkably exhilarating in the clear cold air of -such a day on the hilltops, and as we mounted -up and up our spirits rose with us—even though -the roads were rough and terribly hard on war-time -leather.</p> - -<p>I once remarked to a local resident that I -found our stony hillside roads a bit trying, to -say nothing of the side paths.</p> - -<p>“Well now, I do be s’prised to hear ’ee a-say -that,” he replied. “For the on’y time I were -up to Lunnon—I went for a day scursion—d’you -know my legs did that <i>hake</i> when I got -back, I were a week getting over it. It were all -along o’ they flat stones what they do have up -there; why, if you believe me, I was a-near<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> -toppling over every other minute. There weren’t -ne’er a blessed thing to catch holt onter with -your toes! I felt as though the pavemint was -a-coming up to knock my head. Now on these -here roads o’ ourn you can’t slip far, because -there’s always summat of a rock or big stone to -trip up agin.”</p> - -<p>For myself, however, I sometimes think I -would prefer the said rocks and stones if they -were boiled a bit, and then mangled.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>At last we reached the crest of the hill, and -paused to get our breath. The silence was awe-inspiring. -At all other times there is a persistent -hum of insects, or cheep of birds, or the rustling -of leaves and swaying grasses—movement and -sound somewhere, night as well as day. But -when the earth has been swept by the magic of -frost, then there is silence indeed. From where -we stood, we might have been alone on the -very edge of the world. No house was visible, -and although we knew that the little village -lay in the valley below us, we could see nothing -of it.</p> - -<p>All was grey, merging into indigo in the -depths of the coombes. Grey were the trees on -the farther hills, grey unrelieved by the lights -and shadows that gaily chase each other over the -steeps in sunny weather, as the white clouds sail -across the sky above them.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p> - -<p>Near at hand the trees took on more individuality. -The straight columns of the larches -were mysterious-looking and awe-inspiring, -suggesting regiments of soldiers suddenly called -to a halt. Pale grey beeches, that in damp -weather show a vivid emerald green down the -north side of their huge trunks, where moss -flourishes undisturbed, were now stretching out -strong bare arms over the carpet of many -years’ leaves lying thickly beneath them. Silver -birch stems gleamed in contrast to the glossy -dark green of innumerable aged yews that dotted -the woods—ancient inhabitants, indeed, standing -hoary and heroic like some dark-visaged -guardians of the forest, among a host of newcomers -of a far younger generation.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>But while we were standing there, a sound -suddenly broke the stillness, a sound I have -heard hundreds of times on those hills, yet never -without an eerie feeling. It begins far away, a -low undertone murmur; gradually it comes -nearer and nearer, getting louder and louder, till it -becomes almost a roar, and then—<i>diminuendo</i>—it -passes on and is finally lost in the far -distance.</p> - -<p>It is only the wind as it suddenly rushes -through the river gorge; but as it tears at the -forests on the hillsides, and lashes the branches -together, it produces a strangely uncanny sound,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> -more especially when the trees are bare and -extremely vibrant.</p> - -<p>Hearing this, one can understand the origin -of the old-time legends about headless horsemen -galloping past on windy nights, and similar hair-raising -stories. As a child, when I often visited -at another house in this region (for four generations -of us have climbed these hills and explored -the valleys), I heard these same “headless horsemen” -gallop along the slopes on many stormy -nights; and despite my years and my common -sense, I still feel the same creepy shiver in the -back of my neck when they have a particularly -mad stampede past my cottage door, for then -they always pause to give the weirdest of howls -through the keyholes!</p> - -<p>“How dark it is getting!” exclaimed Ursula. -“Where is your moon? And just hear the -wind coming up the valley!”</p> - -<p>It had not reached us as yet, but the words -had scarcely left her lips before it came—swish—full -upon us. We had to grip each other and -plant our walking-sticks firmly on the ground -to keep our feet. And then we knew what -the sudden change meant, for next moment -down came the snow—snow such as the town-dweller -knows nothing about, for in cities -there are buildings to break the force of the -elements; but on these heights there is nothing -to impede the fury of the storm as it gallops<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> -over the upper regions, crashing and smashing -as it goes.</p> - -<p>The snow dashed in our eyes; it got inside -our coat-collars; it clogged up our hair; it -swirled and “druv” (as they say locally) till it -made our heads dizzy, and our eyes smarted with -trying to see through the whirling mass.</p> - -<p>Owing to our exposed position we felt the -full force of the storm, and it was a difficult -matter to make headway in the blinding flakes -and stinging wind.</p> - -<p>“There is a short cut through the wood, -further along the road; let us get home as soon -as we can,” I said, leading the way, and we -staggered on against the blizzard, till we came -to the wood, and plunged from the road into its -recesses. But I soon found it is one thing to -know the way through a dense mass of trees in -bright sunshine with a path clearly defined, and -quite another thing to find one’s way in the -twilight, with a gale blowing in one’s teeth and -every landmark obliterated by the rapidly falling -snow.</p> - -<p>We stumbled along for some time, over the -rough stones and great boulders, lovely enough -in summer with their coverings of ivy, moss, and -fern, but very painful and cold for the shins -when you tumble over them in the snow. -Before long it was quite evident to me that we -were merely wandering at large among the trees,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> -and scrambling among the undergrowth of stalks -and bracken, our hats catching in the hanging -branches, our skirts being clutched at by the all-pervading -bramble—path there was none. I -had to admit I had lost my bearings, though as -we were going steadily downhill, I knew we -should arrive at the other side presently, as downhill -was our destination. What little conversation -we indulged in—beyond the usual exclamations -every time we tripped over something—had to -be done in shouts, so high was the wind.</p> - -<p>In this way we tumbled on for about half an -hour. Just as Virginia was confiding to me—<i>fortissimo</i> -above the blizzard—how she wished -she had been nicer to her family when she had -the opportunity, and how sweet and forgiving -she would have been to them all had she but -known that I was going to take her out to an -arctic grave, the snow ceased, the clouds broke, -the moon appeared, and at the same time we -cleared the wood and struck a familiar lane—“Agag’s -Path” we had named it, on account of -the need for walking delicately.</p> - -<p>By way of keeping up our spirits, Ursula -began to chant, to some lilting, sprightly tune, -that most lugubrious poem, “Lucy Gray.”</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“The storm came up before its time,</div> -<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">She wandered up and down;</span></div> -<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And many a hill did Lucy climb,</span></div> -<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">But never reached the town.”</span></div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span></p> - -<p class="unindent">When she got to the verse—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“They followed from the snowy bank</div> -<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Those footmarks, one by one,</span></div> -<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Into the middle of the plank,</span></div> -<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And farther there were none!”—</span></div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="unindent">Virginia exclaimed, “For mercy sake, if you -<i>must</i> wail, do wail something cheerful and lively. -‘The Boy stood on the Burning Deck,’ for -instance, would warm one up a bit, instead of -that other shivery thing.”</p> - -<p>By the time we reached our gate the storm -was over, though the wind was still sweeping -restlessly over the hills. A dog belonging to a -neighbouring farmer jumped over the garden -wall. He had evidently called in the hope of -getting a chance to settle a long-standing score -he had against my own innocent-looking animal, -who was ever a terrible fighter! We paid no -attention to the dog, however, but hurried up -the path, only too thankful to see the lights of -home, and glad that Eileen had forgotten to pull -down the dark blinds. Nevertheless, I wondered -that she did not open the door so soon as she -heard the gate. I put my hand on the latch, -but to my surprise the door was locked! I -rattled the latch and knocked. The dog whined -inside and gave impatient little short barks -which always mean a summons to someone to -open the door and let me in. But the door -remained locked.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p> - -<p>Then Eileen’s voice within—</p> - -<p>“Are you quite by yourselves? Has the -wolf gone?”</p> - -<p>“Open the door at once, and don’t talk -nonsense,” I said firmly, trying not to sound as -irritated as I felt.</p> - -<p>“Oh, but it isn’t nonsense. I’ve seen them -out there! One was there just now. And I’m -not going to risk my life by opening the door if -he’s there still.”</p> - -<p>Evidently <i>our</i> lives were unimportant! “If -you don’t open the door this very instant,” I -said, “I’ll get in through the window. You -must be out of your senses, and you have always -professed to be so brave!”</p> - -<p>The key grated in the lock, and the door -opened half an inch, while Eileen’s nose peeped -at the crack, to make sure we were not the wolf. -Then she explained, “If you’d been here for -hours and hours, as I have”—(we had actually -been gone an hour and a half, though I could -understand the sudden storm, and our delay, had -made her nervous)—“hearing those wolves outside -a-howling and howling and gnashing their -horrid fangs, you wouldn’t wonder I was afraid -to open the door. I saw one skulking off just -before you came in.”</p> - -<p>I understood the situation immediately. -“Eileen,” I said severely, “what have you been -reading?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I couldn’t help just seeing what it was all -about when I spread the sheets on the dresser. -You said I must have fresh papers for the -dresser and shelves——”</p> - -<p>“Fresh paper on the dresser?” I exclaimed, -and went hurriedly into the kitchen. Sure -enough, the dresser, the pantry and scullery -shelves, and all other available surfaces, including -the deep window-sill and the tops of the -safes, had been carefully covered with white -paper; prompt investigation proved them to be -pages from some of the various MSS. I had left -in piles on the settle when I went out. Of course -the writing was face downwards. I lifted things -and examined what was beneath. The vegetable -dishes on the dresser were reposing on portions -of a serial story; canisters, saltbox and biscuit-tins -shared the back of one of a series of Nature -Study articles; the Siberian wolves were gnashing -their horrid fangs beneath the knife-machine. -I left the anonymous letter to an amiable if -inglorious end, laid along the saucepan shelf, -but I hurriedly collected the rest to the accompaniment -of Eileen’s plaintive tones—</p> - -<p>“I thought you had put them there for -waste paper. And the back of every sheet was -so beautifully clean, and I had made my kitchen -look <i>so</i> nice with them.”</p> - -<p>All of which goes to illustrate the risk -one runs in sending MSS. to editors, more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> -especially to feminine editors possessed of -kitchens.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Though the fall of snow did not last very -long, the wind howled and moaned around the -house all the evening, and roared in the wide -chimneys like a 32-feet open diapason pedal -pipe. Virginia suggested to Eileen that she -should go out and put a little salt on the wolves’ -tails to see if that would quiet them.</p> - -<p>I thoroughly enjoy the moaning of the wind -if I am surrounded by creature comforts—a big -fire, a good cup of tea, or something interesting -in that line. I never feel a desire for intellectual -or introspective pursuits when the moan is -most robust. When a raw nor’wester or a -bullying sou’wester howls outside the door and -windows, making the pine trees creak and -groan like the wheels of an old timber waggon, -and the evergreen firs wildly wave their branches -like long dark plumes, I want to be able to hug -myself to myself in the midst of warmth and -good cheer, and in the company of some congenial -fellow being. Then I give the fire a -further poke and another log, remarking contentedly: -“Just <i>hark</i> at the wind! <i>What</i> a -night! Isn’t it cosy indoors!” And the brass -candlesticks on the mantelpiece, and the plates -and jugs and dishes on the dresser blink -acquiescence.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></p> - -<p>Under such circumstances I love the howlers -on these hills. But if I were a studious ascetic, -burning the midnight oil—and very little else—I’m -afraid that the sound of the wailing up and -down the scale in minor sixths, coupled with the -lack of comforting food and blazing fire and -sympathetic companionship, would make me -desperately melancholy indeed.</p> - -<p>Now we were indoors we could defy the -weather, and here at least firewood was plentiful—not -the “five sticks a penny, take it or leave -it,” that had been our portion in town, but as -much as ever one wanted, and plenty more -where the last came from. We soon had -crackling blazes all over the house, and you -should have seen Eileen’s almost awestruck -countenance when she was told to make herself -a fire in her own bedroom! “<i>Now</i> I know -what it’s like to be the Queen!” she exclaimed.</p> - -<p>I had been literally fire-starved, owing to -the need for economizing on fuel in town; and -now I was loose among my own woods again, -with snapped branches lying in all directions -among the undergrowth, I went in for an orgy -of warmth. Large chunks of apple wood and -stubby bits the wind had tossed down from the -creaking fir-trees, made crackling glowing fires -in the big open grates. An absurd butterfly -unthawed itself from some crevice among the -ceiling beams and came walking deliberately<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> -down the window curtain, evidently under -the impression that he was in for a sultry -summer.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>For some time we sat and watched the -splendour of it all.</p> - -<p>When you are burning logs from old, sea-going -ships, you see again the blue and saffron -of the sky, and the green and peacock tints of -the ocean; and in like manner you can see -leaping from our forest logs the crimson and -yellow and gold that once blazed in the autumn -glory of the tree-covered hills, and the glow of -the fire gives back the warmth and the sunshine -that the trees caught in their leaves and -cherished in their rugged branches.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I dropped off to sleep that night with the -flickering fire-glow whispering of comfort and -rest for body and brain. Yes, despite the -soothing balm of it all, and the certainty of -safety from “the terror that walks by night” so -that one could sleep without that sense of constant -listening that has become second nature -with those of us who live in town, I could not -enjoy it with the old-time zest. Who could, -with the thought ever on one’s heart: what -about this lad, and that one? where are <i>they</i> -lying this bitter night?</p> - -<p>Physical sense becomes numbed when one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> -lives perpetually in the shadow of possible -tragedy.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Probably it was the after-effect of our -struggle with the wind and weather that caused -us all to sleep very soundly that night; at any -rate, it was broad daylight before anyone stirred -in the cottage next morning, and we missed the -doings of the storm king in the interval. When -I first opened my eyes I wondered what the -white light could be that was reflected on the -ceiling. Then I looked out of the window, and -what a scene it was! The whole earth, so far -as the eye could see, was one vast fairyland of -snow; moreover, the face of creation appeared -to have risen three or four feet nearer the bedroom -window since last I had looked out, though -the full import of this did not occur to me at the -moment. I could merely look and look at the -wonderful transformation that had been effected -so rapidly and so silently while we slept. All -trace of the garden had disappeared; shrubs and -trees alike were bowed down with billows of -snow. In the more exposed places, the wind -had blown some of the snow from the firs and -larches, but for the most part the trees on the -hillside were as laden with snow as those in -the garden. We might have been high up in -the Alps. The sun was trying to shine, and -bringing a gleam and glint out of every snow<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> -crystal, but the sky still looked leaden in the -north.</p> - -<p>Eileen, bringing the morning tea, imparted -the thrilling intelligence that the snow was -several feet deep outside the doors, the outhouses -inaccessible.</p> - -<p>“Then we must clear the snow from the -path ourselves,” I said. “There is nothing else -for it.” The handy man was laid up with -influenza in his home several fields away. And -there was small likelihood of any other man -coming our way. But the question of a few -shovels of snow did not seem a serious matter; -we were quite lighthearted about it.</p> - -<p>When we made our first survey of the -situation, however, we found that the snow was -far higher outside the door than we had at first -imagined. Owing to the position of the house, -and the way it nestles back in a little hollow -that has been cut out of the hillside to give it -level standing room, special inducement had -been offered to the snow to pile itself up in -drifts and block each door in a most effectual -manner. Still—that snow had to be cleared -away somehow, and we stood in the doorway -and discussed methods.</p> - -<p>Hitherto I had always held the idea that -people who allowed themselves to remain -“snowed up” were very dull-witted and lacking -in enterprise. Why not start clearing from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> -inside, beginning with the spadeful nearest the -doorstep, and so go on clearing, space after -space, until they had got through to the outer -world? To me it seemed quite an easy thing to -do if you went about it systematically. But one -slight detail had never occurred to me, viz., what -should be done with the first spadeful of snow -when you shovelled it up from beside the doorstep, -to say nothing of the next and the next! -That was one of the questions that bothered us -now, though it was not the first difficulty we -encountered.</p> - -<p>At the very outset, of course, we all said, -“Just get a spade!” But, alas, the spade was -locked up in one of the inaccessible outhouses! -Next we called for a broom, but all brooms were -in the same building. Then I said, “Well, -bring some shovels.”</p> - -<p>“Here’s the kitchen shovel,” said Eileen -(Ursula pounced on that at once), “and here’s -the scoop from the coal-scuttle, and here’s one -of the small brass shovels from upstairs.”</p> - -<p>“But where is the big iron shovel?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“That’s in the coal-shed” (likewise inaccessible!). -Virginia turned a deaf ear on the bedroom -shovel, and possessed herself of the scoop. -I had no alternative but to start work with the -small brass affair that was about as effective as a -fish-slice would have been!</p> - -<p>We each shovelled up a mass (most of it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> -tumbling off the shovel again before we got it -into mid-air), and then we looked at each other -and enquired what we were to do with it. It -did not seem advisable to carry it inside the -house; and the only alternative was to toss it a -foot or two away from us; but then, that only -meant adding to the pile already there, which in -any case we should have to clear away before we -could get anywhere! It <i>was</i> a problem.</p> - -<p>In the end we managed to clear about a -square foot, and make a few small burrows in -the mound around us, by throwing the snow as -far away as we could each time. But what was -that foot! We were still yards away from the -coal-shed and the wood-house, with only a -limited supply indoors, and still further away -from the water. We had been working for a -solid hour, and seemed to have raised a haystack -of snow a little way off, where we had tossed our -meagre shovelfuls. And then—as though to -mock our feeble attempts—down came the snow -again, and covered up the space we had cleared -with such effort!</p> - -<p>We looked at it in absolute despair.</p> - -<p>“Why was I born an unmarried spinster?” -exclaimed Ursula. “Oh, that a man would -hove in sight—or whatever the present tense of -‘hove’ may be.”</p> - -<p>But no man obligingly hove in response!</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>X<br /> - -<small>Footprints</small></h2> - - -<p class="unindent"><span class="smcap">The</span> snow was meaning to have a good time of -it; there was no question about that. Further -work in the clearing line was obviously impossible.</p> - -<p>Virginia tilted up her coal-scoop in the porch, -beside the pathetic remains of small brass shovel -No. 1 (which broke in half quite early in the -proceedings), and small brass shovel No. 2 -(which also was giving wobbly indications of -impending collapse). Ursula, possessing the -only serviceable tool in the whole collection, -had with unusual forethought carried in the -kitchen shovel, and hidden it surreptitiously—realising -that it was a much-coveted treasure at -that moment.</p> - -<p>But she did suggest that if we just took the -ladder upstairs and let it down out of the end -bedroom window she could climb down, and -that would bring her close to the wood shed; -she could get from the roof of that on to a low -wall, and walk along the wall to the gate, which -she would then climb over (as it was blocked -each side with snow), and in this way she could -get out into the lane to the spring of water, and -bring back a can of water by the same route.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> -This she would tie to a cord let down from the -bedroom window, which could then be hauled -up. Then she would get into the wood shed—which -would not be difficult, as the door opened -inwards, and would not be blocked by the snow -on the inside; getting together some logs, she -would next lash them up so that they also could -be hauled up like the water; finally, she would -herself return, <i>viâ</i> the roof and the ladder and -the bedroom window, to the bosom of the -family.</p> - -<p>This suggestion was received with gratitude, -only everyone else wanted to take Ursula’s place, -and make the tour instead of her. We pointed -out to her that, as she had already meanly -annexed the only workable shovel, she ought at -least to relinquish the rôle of leading lady in this -expedition. We might have wasted much time -in arguing with her had not Eileen reminded us -that the ladder—like everything else we needed—was -up the garden safely snowed up under the -laurel hedge. So that project fell through.</p> - -<p>“We may as well leave that collection of old -metal in the porch,” said Virginia, “since there -is no fear of callers arriving and putting us to the -blush this afternoon.” Then there was nothing -left to do but to stamp off the snow, and shed -rubbers, and ulsters, and scarfs, and woollen -gloves, and possess our souls in patience indoors, -till such time as the snow should give over.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span></p> - -<p>“And to think how I’ve always prided -myself on going away from home prepared for -<i>every</i> emergency!” sighed Virginia. “My -dressing-case is simply crammed with such -valuable data as a bandage for a possible sprained -ankle, court plaster, a pocket-knife with a corkscrew -on it, a specially strong smelling-bottle for -fainty ones, a nightlight, a box of matches, -ammoniated quinine, wedges for rattling windows, -a box of tin-tacks—no, not a hammer, I -always use the heel of my shoe—a two-foot rule—what -should I want that for? I’m sure I -don’t know, but then you never can tell! But -with all my precautions, it never occurred to me -to pack a spade and broom in with my luggage. -This snowstorm has shown me the weak points -in my outfit.”</p> - -<p>“It has shown <i>me</i> the weak points in my -joints,” groaned Ursula. “And, moreover, I -never knew before how many parts of us there -were that could ache. I’m just painful from -head to foot. I never realised what a noble, -self-sacrificing calling snow-shovelling is. And -when I think of the men who come round in -town, offering to sweep the snow from the path—and -a good long path too—for a few pence, it -seems a positive scandal that they should get so -little. I’m sure there is quite ten shillings’ -worth of me used up already!”</p> - -<p>We certainly did ache. And only those who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> -have been suddenly called upon to attack a bank -of snow, with inexperience and feeble tools, can -know the extent of our stiffness. We were -content to let it snow, without the slightest -desire to crick our backs any further. And after -all there is something exceedingly restful and -soothing to over-worked brain and over-strained -nerves, in merely sitting in a low chair by a -roaring fire, taking only such exercise as is -required to put on an extra log, secure in the -knowledge that neither telegram, nor visitor, -nor any communication whatsoever from the -outside world can possibly break in upon the -quiet and peace. You need to spend your life -in the heart of the great metropolis, amid the -never-ceasing turmoil of London streets, with -your days one long maddening distraction of -callers, telephone bells, endless queries and -perpetual noise, to appreciate the joy of the -solitude in that snowed-up cottage among the -hills.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>For long months and months the guns in -Flanders had sent a muffled boom over my -London garden every hour of the day, and had -shaken my windows violently every hour of the -night; and there is no need to set down in -writing the ache and the anxiety that each dull -thud brought to the heart. Every one who has -husband or brother or son out yonder knows<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> -what question comes wafted over each time the -guns send out their deadly roll.</p> - -<p>But our craving for quiet was not a desire to -get out of earshot of the guns. It dated farther -back than the War; it was the inevitable outcome -of the over-wrought hurry of the twentieth -century, when one’s nerves get so frazzled in the -vain attempt to do everything, and do it all at -once, that at last life is simply one intense longing -for that “nest in the wilderness” out of reach -of the clamour of the market-place and the -vain, foolish, soul-wearing struggle for material -things.</p> - -<p>In that enchanted period of life, known as -“before the War,” we used often to discuss the -desirability of moving to an uninhabited island -and spending the rest of our days there in unalloyed -peace. It had been an absorbing dream -with me, ever since I first read Sarah Orne -Jewett’s book, <i>The Country of the Pointed Firs</i>. -I dare say it was selfish to think of being <i>quite</i> -out of reach of the noise and dirt and bustle and -din of cities, and where there would be no next-door -piano, and no gramophone in the house the -other side, and no soots floating in the windows—but -it was a very pleasant one, and I used to -add to it occasionally by imagining what it would -be like to wake up one morning and find that -some unknown but generous friend had left me -an uninhabited island as a legacy; one not far<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> -from the mainland, and somewhere around the -British Isles, of course.</p> - -<p>When such a thing happens, it will find me -quite prepared, for we have built the house there, -and furnished it, and mapped out our life there -many and many a time; all I am waiting for is—the -island! That seems hard to come by! -I’ve had one or two offered me (not as gifts, but -to purchase), like Lundy, for instance, but they -cost too much and are not uninhabited. So we -have still to content ourselves with plans only.</p> - -<p>We were recalled to The Island (we always -refer to it in capital letters) as we sat round the -fire, by Virginia inquiring what books I should -take with me when I moved there. She said -she concluded that, being a booky sort of a -person, a library would be an essential.</p> - -<p>But I set my face firmly against taking unnecessary -literature. My house gets choked -with books, ninety per cent. of which I never -open a second time. I am for ever turning them -out, and yet they go on accumulating. Virginia -has a perfect mania for hoarding impossible -books, that she could never find time to read -through again if she lived to be the age of -Methuselah; yet she keeps them all, on the -chance that some day she may require to refer -to a solitary sentence in one of them. Her -cupboards are full, and her shelves are packed -behind and before, and she has had sets of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> -drawers made just to hold “papers”; which -means hundredweights of abstruse pamphlets, -and learned magazines, and cuttings—well, I -dare say you know the sort of girl she is, and -what it’s like when their flat gets spring-cleaned, -and she insists that no one must lay a finger on -<i>her</i> books!</p> - -<p>Ursula isn’t much better; but at least she is -more practical, and believes in spring cleaning; -hence, in <i>her</i> case, she does have a turn-out occasionally, -and just throws away indiscriminately -whole shelf-loads of books in a fit of desperation, -when she has managed to get every article in the -flat jumbled up in a heap in the room it has no -business in, and no one can find anything. I -believe at such time she surreptitiously disposes -of some of Virginia’s tomes, too; but this I only -suspect. At any rate, Virginia is always bewailing -a number of “<i>most</i> important books” -that never can be found after one of Ursula’s -domestic upheavals.</p> - -<p>Knowing all this, I said that only a definite -number of books would be allowed on The -Island. Both girls said it would be impossible -to fix any limit that would meet the case. I -said I was quite sure humanity, more especially -the intellectual feminine portion of it, could do -with far less books than they thought they could.</p> - -<p>Vehement protests!</p> - -<p>Then I suggested, to prove my words, that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> -we should each start to make out a list of the -books we couldn’t possibly do without on The -Island—<i>only</i> those we couldn’t possibly do without—and -see what it amounted to. “Jot down -any book or author that occurs to us as being -essential, irrespective of any sort of classification,” -I said. “And we had better compare -notes every ten books, as we go along.”</p> - -<p>Forthwith, we each scribbled down our first -ten <i>absolutely indispensable</i> books (they were to -be exclusive of religious and devotional works). -When we compared notes in a few minutes’ -time, these were our lists:—</p> - - -<div class="center"><span class="smcap">Virginia.</span></div> - - -<ul class="booklist"><li>Encyclopædia.</li> -<li>A Dictionary.</li> -<li>Jane Austen’s Novels.</li> -<li>“The Shepherd of Salisbury Plain.”</li> -<li>A Time Table.</li> -<li>Franklin’s “Voyages.”</li> -<li>“Punch” (regularly).</li> -<li>A good Atlas.</li> -<li>“The Spectator” (regularly).</li> -<li>“A Child’s Garden of Verse.” R. L. Stevenson.</li></ul> - - - -<div class="center"><br /><span class="smcap">Ursula.</span></div> - - -<ul class="booklist"> -<li>A good Guide to London.</li> -<li><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span>A large selection of Needlework and Crochet Books.</li> -<li>My old Scrapbook.</li> -<li>Mudie’s Catalogue.</li> -<li>An Almanac giving the changes of the moon.</li> -<li>“The Old Red Sandstone.” Hugh Miller.</li> -<li>The Stores Price List.</li> -<li>Mrs. Hemans’ Poems.</li> -<li>The Scottish Student’s Song Book.</li> -<li>Kipling’s “Kim.”</li> -</ul> - - - -<div class="center"><br /><span class="smcap">Self.</span></div> - - -<ul class="booklist"><li>All Ruskin’s Works.</li> -<li>“The Wide, Wide World.”</li> -<li>“The Country of the Pointed Firs.” S. O. Jewett.</li> -<li>All my Gardening Books and Florists’ Seed Catalogues.</li> -<li>All my Wild Flower Books.</li> -<li>“A Little Book of Western Verse.” Eugene Field.</li> -<li>Poems by Ann and Jane Taylor.</li> -<li>All my Cookery Books.</li> -<li>All the Board of Agriculture’s Leaflets.</li> -<li>A Book on Deer Culture.</li></ul> - - - -<p>Of course, we each gazed in profound surprise -and contempt on the others’ lists, and asked why -this and that had been put down. Why did -Ursula want a guide to London, when the object -of going to The Island was to get away from -London?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span></p> - -<p>She said she thought you ought to keep in -touch with things even if you were away; and if -it came to that, why did I want a Deer book, -since I couldn’t look at venison?</p> - -<p>I said I felt it in me that I should start -keeping deer as soon as I landed, and there was -more sense in doing that than in reading a Time -Table, for instance!</p> - -<p>Virginia protested a Time Table was absolutely -essential, else how would you ever be able -to get away when you wanted to? And you -never knew <i>when</i> you might be summoned to -anyone’s funeral in a hurry, and was she supposed -to be cut off from <i>all</i> human enjoyment? -Whereas no one could possibly want a Student’s -Song Book, when they couldn’t sing two notes in -tune; and, also, why Mrs. Hemans, might she -venture to ask?</p> - -<p>“Yes, who would dream of carting around a -Mrs. Hemans in these days?” I scoffed.</p> - -<p>“The frontispiece engraving of Mrs. Hemans -always reminded me of mother’s Aunt Matilda,” -said Ursula impressively. “I only saw her -twice, but on the first occasion she gave me a -doll, and on the second a blue and white bead -necklace; I’ve got three of the beads left, in my -workbox. And I’ve always loved beads, and I -loved her in consequence, and I wouldn’t dream -of being parted from Mrs. Hemans. And, in -any case, why bring a Dictionary?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Because I may require to look up a more -expressive word occasionally, or enlarge my flow -of vocabulary,” Virginia explained. “And I -conclude I’m not expected to be absolutely dumb -when we get there!”</p> - -<p>Of course, I don’t mean to imply that these -are necessarily the books we should have named -had we sat down thoughtfully to compile a list -most representative of our tastes and needs; but -whatever list I had made, I’m sure I should have -included the volumes I named; and it goes to -show that the books that make an individual -appeal to us are not necessarily those that our -friends expect us to name.</p> - -<p>The library catalogue was never completed, -for, before we had time further to criticize each -other’s preferences, we were pulled up short by -a sound.</p> - -<p>We all stopped our chatter on an instant, for -surely and certainly there could be no mistaking -it, there was the ring of an iron spade -chinking on stone! When last we had looked -out, just after breakfast, not a stone had been -visible for a spade to chink against in the -whole vicinity. We flew to the door, and there, -touching his hat with a smiling “Good morning, -ma’am,” stood the elderly handy man who ought -to have been in bed with his bad cold; and -behold, a clear path to the lane. He had worked -from the gate inwards, and we had been so busy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> -with our discussions indoors, we had not heard -him till he reached the porch.</p> - -<p>“I was only able to get down downstairs -yesterday,” the invalid explained. “But in any -case it wasn’t no good coming over till that spell -o’ snow was down, even if I’d been fit to come -out.” Then, after a detailed description of -symptoms and sufferings and so forth—“Yes, I -think there’s a good bit more to come down yet. -Nothing won’t be able to be got up from the -village yet awhile; they tell me the drifts is -eight feet deep in places. Maybe in a few days -I’ll be able to get down. I’ll be wanting some -sharps soon myself for the fowls, so I’ll have to -try and get down by the end of the week. And -the butcher’s killing himself this week, I could -bring you up a j’int. I’ve knocked up a good -bit of kindling wood in the wood shed, so you’ll -be all right now.”</p> - -<p>Yes, we were all right now, from one point -of view; but I devoutly hoped he would not -wait till the end of the week before he went for -those “sharps,” for I had discovered that we had -<i>only one loaf in the house!</i> And as they only -bake twice a week in our village, and everyone -knows how long war bread won’t keep, I need -only add that already we had to cut off all the -outside before bringing it to table, and by -to-morrow it would be quite gorgonzola-ish right -through!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span></p> - -<p>As soon as he had gone, Ursula burst forth, -“Don’t talk to me any more of the rights of -women”—no one had been, but we let it pass—“don’t -tell me they are the equals of men, and -that all they want is a good education and scope -for their energies. Look at us, haven’t <i>we</i> all -had good educations?” (Ursula and her sister -are thoroughly acquainted with the literature of -several European countries; they read Plato in -the original; and can give you reliable information -on such points as the similarity between the -tribes on the borders of Tibet and the Patagonians—if -any exists. They can certainly be -called well educated.) “And wasn’t there scope -enough for our energies out there? And then -consider what we accomplished! While a man -like that comes along—says he never went to -school in his life, just risen from a sick bed, too, -so none too strong—yet in an hour or so he’s -done what <i>we</i> should not have got through in a -month. And look at the neat job he’s made of -it, with the snow banked up trimly on each side; -why, we were about as effective and as artistic -as three fowls scratching on the surface of things. -And then look at the stack of wood he got ready -in no time. I’m sure I blushed to see him -gazing at that collection of decrepit shovels -standing in the porch——”</p> - -<p>“And well you might blush,” edged in Virginia, -“remembering how you selfishly stuck to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> -the only decent shovel there was, with never so -much as an offer to either of us to have a turn.”</p> - -<p>“—Yes, we ought to have votes, we’re so—capable!” -Ursula went on, but I begged her not -to worry her head about votes just now, as the -question of food was of greater national importance.</p> - -<p>At the word “food” of course everyone was -all attention, and we made ourselves into a Privy -Council, and they appointed me Food Controller, -because it would give them the right to do all -the grumbling. But the matter was not quite -as much of a joke as they thought. For so long -they had been accustomed to a pantry stocked -with bottles and tins and stores of all descriptions -(and Virginia once remarked that to read -the labels alone—if you had lost the tin-opener—was -quite as good as a seven-course meal at a -fashionable restaurant), that they forgot things -were not like that now! In the dairy, too -(which we use as a larder), it was the usual pre-war -thing to see large open jam tarts in deep -dishes, with a fancy trellis work over the top of -the jam, and large pies with lovely water-lilies, -made from the scraps of paste, on top, and -spicy brown cakes, with a delicious odour, -standing on the stone slabs—Abigail being a -capital hand at pastry and cakes. The dairy is -built on the north side, close under the hill, and -the great stone wall that keeps the hill from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> -tumbling down on top of the dairy is packed with -hart’s-tongue and the British maiden-hair fern, -and rosettes of the pretty little scaly spleenwort, -and lacy tufts of wall rue, and practically every -other kind of fern that loves damp shade and the -English climate. And ivy runs over the lot -right up to the top, where wild roses and honeysuckle -and blackberry ramp about in the sunshine, -and often peep down to see how it fares -with their comrades in the cool ravine below. -The long fronds of the fern wave in at the dairy -window, and the ivy sends out little fingers, -catching hold wherever it can, and creeping in, -very much at home, through the wire-netting -that does duty for a window. My guests always -like to go into the dairy to see the wonderful -array of ferns; but I sometimes suspect it is also -to gaze on the appetizing-looking things that -appeal irresistibly to all who have spent an hour -or two in our hungry air!</p> - -<p>But war had made a considerable difference -alike to pantry and store-cupboard and larder, -and we had to trust to the promise of Miss -Jarvis, the lady at the village shop—and one of -the most valuable members of the community—that -we should not actually starve! As the stocks -had been used, they had not been replenished. -Cinnamon buns, lemon-curd cheese cakes, fruit -cakes with a nice crack in the top, were no -longer piled up in the larder. No home-cured<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> -ham, sewn up in white muslin, hung from the -big hook in the kitchen ceiling. No large, dried, -golden-coloured vegetable marrows hung up -beside it for winter use.</p> - -<p>We had plenty of potatoes, fortunately (and -never had we valued potatoes as we did this -year!), and we had the usual “remains” that -are in the larder, when the butcher has not -called for a few days and a family lives from -hand to mouth, as one has had to do recently, -lest one should be suspected of hoarding!</p> - -<p>There was a tin of lunch biscuits, some -cheese, and cereals; but the rest of the store -cupboard seemed exasperatingly useless when it -came to sustaining life in a snow-bound household. -What good was a tin of linseed, for -instance, or a bottle of cayenne, or a bottle of -evaporated horse-radish (with the sirloin presumably -still gambolling about somewhere in -the valley)? Why had I ever laid in a bottle of -tarragon vinegar, a bottle of salad dressing, a -box of rennet tablets, a tin of curry powder, -desiccated cocoanut, a bottle of chutney? Even -the tin of baking powder and the nutmegs and -capers seemed extravagant and superfluous. Oh, -for a simple glass of tongue—but we had opened -our only one the day we arrived!</p> - -<p>One thing was certain: while the snow -remained at its present depth, to say nothing of -an increase, no provisions could be got up from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> -the village. The steep roads were like glass the -last time we were out; now they would be -impassable for horses or vehicles, even though a -man might manage to get over them somehow. -Milk we could obtain from a neighbouring farm, -perhaps a few eggs, possibly a fowl as a very -special favour, now that our path was cleared; -but that was the utmost we could hope to raise -locally. The point to be considered was: How -long could we hold out?</p> - -<p>“Well, there is only one other thing I can -think of,” said Virginia; “you must fly signals of -distress, and hoist a flag up at the top of the -chimney—they always do in books. . . . How -are you to get the flag up the chimney? I’m -sure <i>I</i> don’t know if you don’t! What’s the good -of being an editor if you don’t know a simple -little thing like that?”</p> - -<p>But the problem was solved for me by a tap -at the door, and then one realised the superiority -of the servants of the Crown over all ordinary -individuals. It was the postman. He said -“Good morning” with the modest air of one -who knows he has accomplished a great deed, -but leaves it for others to extol.</p> - -<p>“I’ve brought up the letters,” he said; “but -I couldn’t get up the parcels to-day. There are -a good many.” I knew what that meant. My -post is necessarily a very heavy one, more -especially when I am away from town, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> -great packages of things are sent down daily. -“Is there anything I can take back with me?” -he inquired.</p> - -<p>I hastily scribbled some telegrams on urgent -matters, glad of this chance to get them sent -off; and I knew the Head of Affairs would be -glad to hear we were all well. As I handed -them to the man, he rather hesitatingly produced -a bulky newspaper parcel that had been -hidden under his big mackintosh cape, with an -apologetic look, as it were, to the Crown, that -the garment should have been put to so unofficial -an use. Then in an undertone, lest the -Postmaster-General in London might overhear, -he said—</p> - -<p>“Miss Jarvis was afraid you might be -running short of things.” The thoughtful Lady -of the Village Shop had sent up a loaf, a piece -of bacon and a pound of sugar. How I blessed -her!</p> - -<p>Next day he managed to get up some of the -small postal packages. The first one I opened -was from one of the Assistant Editors in town.</p> - -<p>“I see in the papers that you’ve had a heavy -fall of snow,” she wrote, “and as there was not -a solitary line from you this morning, I’m -wondering if you are isolated? At any rate, -I’m sending you a home-made cake and a box -of smoked sausages by this post (instead of -MSS.) in case you may be cut off from supplies.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span></p> - -<p>“If that isn’t bed-rock common sense,” said -Ursula. “Most intelligent girls would have -improved the occasion by sending you newspaper -cuttings with statistics of the latest submarine -sinkings, to keep your spirits up.”</p> - -<p>Another slight fall of snow was all the late -afternoon brought us, not enough to spoil the -newly cleared path, but sufficient to reveal the -fact next morning that someone with large -masculine boots had been promenading round -the cottage, for there were the footprints, a clear -track that even a detective could not have failed -to see, leading from the gate to the outhouses, -from the outhouses to the scullery door, from -the scullery door to the best door (it’s absurd to -call it the front door, because each side is as -much the front as the other excepting the part -that backs into the hill!), from the best door to -the door with the porch, and so on, out of the -gate again.</p> - -<p>As none of us knew anything about them, -we concluded the handy man must have returned, -bent on some new errand of mercy. But he -disowned them; had not been near the place -since the previous forenoon, and the snow had -not fallen till five o’clock. It looked exceedingly -queer, not to say uncanny, and we recalled -the fact that the dog had barked violently after -we were in bed. So far as I knew, there was -no resident on those hills who would think of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> -wandering round the house after dark; and no -tramp or odd wayfarer would ever scale those -heights unless he had some very urgent reason -for so doing, and had a definite destination. It -is too stiff a climb to take on a casual chance of -picking up anything; moreover, unless a man -knew his way, he would soon lose himself. -Though the footprints really perplexed me, I did -not say very much about them; but Eileen did.</p> - -<p>When Mr. Jones from a neighbouring farm -arrived with milk, I heard the full description -being given him at the kitchen door. He -expressed due interest, and described a mysterious -case he had just read about, in the -weekly paper, of a servant who had disappeared -from a house in London where she had been in -service for years, and no trace of her had been -found since. Eileen and he agreed as to the -many points of similarity between the two -cases.</p> - -<p>When the lad from the butcher’s came to -know what portion I wished to bespeak of the -sheep they would be killing, come Friday, I -heard Eileen once more going through the story -of the footprints, combined with details of the -missing domestic. He, in turn, told her how a -burglar had been one morning in a house next -door to his grandmother’s in Bristol, and how, -when they chased him, he jumped right over the -garden wall, into the very dish of potatoes his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> -aunt was peeling for his dinner. (The pronouns -were confusing, but I don’t think it was for the -burglar’s dinner the potatoes were intended.)</p> - -<p>The farmer’s daughter who came to inquire -if I would like a fowl, after hearing the story, -offered to lend Eileen a novelette she had just -been reading, where there were footprints exactly -like these; and in the last chapter it turns out -that the footprints were those of—I forget who -or what, but it was very enthralling, and Eileen -gratefully jumped at the offer of the loan.</p> - -<p>The old man who came to say that they -couldn’t deliver any coals till the weather broke, -remarked that he didn’t like the look of it at all, -and said he should be quite nervous if he were -she, and asked her if she had heard about the -old woman who had been found dead in her -bed in Yorkshire, died of cold, and fifty golden -sovereigns tied up in the middle of her pillow? -Eileen had not heard of it. The old man said it -was as well to keep your eyes open, as there -were funny people in the world, and this seemed -to him just such another affair.</p> - -<p>And much more to the same effect.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>That night I was suddenly awakened by a -sound, though at first I could not tell what it -was. I lay wide awake, holding my breath: -then it came again, a gentle rasp, rasp, as though -someone were scraping something with a metal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> -tool. At the same moment I heard Virginia -and Ursula stirring in the next room. I stole in -to them; they too were listening. And then -we realised that the burglar had really come! -From the direction of the sound we knew he -was scraping away the putty, or something of -the sort, from a pane of glass that was let into -the scullery door. If he managed to get through -that, he could undo the bolt, and would be free -of the place.</p> - -<p>What were we to do, we asked each other in -whispers? Of course, previously, I had always -known what I should do if a burglar ever came -to my house. I should go downstairs, throw -open the door and confront him unafraid, asking -him in a firm but most melodious voice what -had brought him to such a low moral depth, and -urging him to better things. He would be so -undone by the sight of me and the sound of the -music of my voice, that he would crumple up -at my feet and confess all his past burglaries. -Whereupon, I should motion him to come in -and take a seat, while I hastily prepared a cup -of Bovril, and cut him a large plate of cold roast -beef; and on his observing that I had passed -him the mustard pot without first removing the -silver spoon, he would be so overcome by my -confidence in him that he would voluntarily vow -to turn over a new leaf. He would leave with -half-a-crown in his pocket. And years afterwards<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> -a prosperous man would knock at my -door, bearing in his hand half-a-crown, etc.</p> - -<p>But this particular case did not seem to fit in -with my previous programme for the reception -of burglars. In the first place there was no -Bovril in the house; and secondly, there was no -beef, only a tiny piece of cold mutton in the -larder—and you can’t do anything heroic with -only cold mutton.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile the man was scraping away downstairs, -and we did not know but what he would -be in upon us any moment.</p> - -<p>“Shall we let the dog loose?” said Virginia.</p> - -<p>“The dog!” I repeated. “Why, where <i>is</i> -the dog? Why isn’t he barking?” Until -that moment we had forgotten him entirely. -There was no sound of him below; and he is a -ferocious little thing if strangers come anywhere -near the place.</p> - -<p>“Oh, then they’ve poisoned him!” gasped -Ursula, almost in tears. “They’ve got some -poisoned meat in to him somehow, under the -door perhaps, and he’ll be lying there a corpse, -and we never thinking of him.” We all three -crept as silently as we could downstairs, to find -“the corpse” remarkably cheerful, with his nose -at the crack of an outer door, every hair of his -body on end with tension, his ears cocked up, -and every muscle of him on the alert—but not a -ghost of a bark did he give, only a perfunctory<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> -waggle of his tail, just as an acknowledgment of -our presence, and an apology that he was too -much engaged at the moment to give us more -attention. There was not much poison about -that dog! As the scraping got louder, and my -teeth were chattering violently (but only with -the cold, as I explained to the other two), I fled -upstairs again, and they followed.</p> - -<p>“What <i>do</i> you usually do when burglars -come?” whispered Virginia.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know. I’ve never had one before,” -I moaned.</p> - -<p>“Didn’t you once tell me you had a bell, or -something of the sort?” said Ursula.</p> - -<p>“Why, yes; I had forgotten that.” I keep -a huge bell under the bed at the head, and I -always intended to ring it violently out of the -window if a burglar ever came. (Scrape, scrape, -scrape, continued down below.) “I don’t suppose -anyone on these hills would wake up to -listen; but, at any rate, it might worry the -burglar and send him off.”</p> - -<p>“Let’s ring it now,” said Virginia eagerly, -“and then, when he is well <i>outside</i> the gate, of -course, we’ll let the dog run out after him.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” I agreed. “But first I want to -go into Eileen’s room, and peep out of her -window and see <i>who</i> is below. Her window -is just over the scullery door, and is always -open at night. If it is anyone from the district—though<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> -I don’t believe it is—I should recognise -him.”</p> - -<p>So we tip-toed into Eileen’s room, where she -lay sound asleep.</p> - -<p>“When I give the signal, you ring,” I said.</p> - -<p>Cautiously, slowly, silently, I got my head a -little further and further out of the window, -shaking with ague from head to foot. And there -I saw the burglar—he was Farmer Jones’s dog -(alias the wolf, you remember), and he had got -hold of a sardine tin that had been emptied that -day. He was having a lovely time, licking that -tin out, and as he licked, so it scraped and -scraped on the stones. No wonder my own dog -did not bark; he knew it was his ancient enemy -without, and the instinct of the dog of war was -to wait stealthily till the foe should get within -his reach.</p> - -<p>“Don’t ring the bell!” I whispered -hoarsely, and we crept out of the room.</p> - -<p>“I think it’s just as well Eileen did not -wake,” I said, as we made ourselves a midnight -cup of tea before turning in again, “for I’ve no -desire to hear <i>this</i> episode being related all day -long at the kitchen door!”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Have you ever sat by the fire indoors, when -the ground has been covered with snow, and the -sky grey and heavy, till you have been “absolutely -<i>perished</i> with the cold,” and then someone<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> -has come and dragged you out (or, if you have -wonderfully uncommon sense, you have dragged -yourself out), and plunged right into it—a -shrivelled-up martyr! After ten minutes spent -in trying to sweep the snow from the path, what -have you felt like?</p> - -<p>I plunged right out into it—simply because -the two girls were bragging such a deal about -their own heroic fortitude in forsaking the fireside -at the call of life’s stern duties, or something -like that. But first of all I put on a knitted -hug-me-tight; then my leather motoring undercoat; -then my big cloth coat; and finally, my -mackintosh. I tied on a woollen sports cap -with a winter motor scarf; I turned up my coat -collar, and put on a fur necklet; and, of course, -I didn’t forget gaiters and warm gloves.</p> - -<p>Then I stood on the doorstep and looked out—if -you believe me, the cold went right through -me, and fairly rattled my bones inside.</p> - -<p>Still, I wasn’t going to be outdone in misery -by the other two, and noticing that the bushes -were actually breaking down under the load of -snow, I seized a broom and sallied forth. After -all, if one has to die a martyr’s death, one may -as well occupy the final moments in doing useful -kindnesses for one’s family.</p> - -<p>It is some sort of solace to picture how they -will eventually say, “To think of her doing all -that, when——”; or, “To the last she never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> -gave in; why only the very day——!”; -or, “Ah! how often have I seen the poor -dear——!” etc.</p> - -<p>So I made for the pink rhododendron, that -was suffering badly; being evergreen, its large -rosettes of leaves, surrounding each flower-bud -of the future, had caught and held great masses -of snow; the lower branches were literally buried -beneath the heavy drifts.</p> - -<p>But as I found I couldn’t get at it without -clearing a way through a three-foot bank of -snow, I set to work with a spade. It sounds -simple enough, I know; but unless you’ve been -getting your living at snow-clearing, you would -never believe what a lot there is to it, when you -start to make a nice serviceable path through -a drift from two to three feet deep, and six feet -long.</p> - -<p>I reached the pink rhododendron at last. -Getting my broom against a main stem, I shook -it gently. What a lovely shower came down! -I don’t know that I needed it all over me, -personally; nor was it necessary to choke up -half the cutting I had just made. Still, down it -came, white billows and a rain of silver powder. -I never knew what snow was really like, till I -shook it all over me, and the sun suddenly came -out and turned the cascade to a gleaming white -radiance.</p> - -<p>Having got well smothered to start with, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> -decided I might just as well go on; and that I -could dispense with the motor undercoat, which -I left hanging on the bush. Lower down the -garden I could hear the clink and scrape of -shovel and spade against the stones, as the other -two cleared the snow from the various little -flights of rough stone steps that take you up or -down, from one level of the garden to another. -But I didn’t feel like clearing steps just then; -it was too niggly. I wanted something bigger -than that, and I somehow had a desire to work -alone, so I struck a path that went up the -garden, and began to work my way towards the -top gate, clearing as I went.</p> - -<p>As I bent over the smooth glistening surface, -I was amazed to see the number of messages -written there for those who know the language -of the wilds well enough to read them! What -a scurrying to and fro of little feet had been -going on since the snowfall, all on the one quest—food -and water! Birds innumerable had left -their signatures; some I knew, some I could not -identify, save that they were birds. Rabbits I -could trace; stoats, too, might have made some -of the writing in the snow; and there were -bigger tracks—perhaps a fox.</p> - -<p>Everywhere there were tidings of other wayfarers, -other workers, other seekers—the many -other dwellers who have their homes somewhere -between the larch-woods and the weir. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> -moment before the place had seemed a frost-locked, -deserted, uninhabitable waste of snow; -now I saw it was teeming with life, brave, persistent, -not-to-be-daunted life, that in spite of -cold and hardship and privation and a universal -stoppage of supplies, still set out, with unquenchable -faith, on the quest for the food -which they have learnt to know is invariably -forthcoming, “in due season.”</p> - -<p>The surprising thing to me is the fact that -such small bodies can ever survive such a welter -of snow. Aren’t they afraid they will sink down -and be swallowed up in it? Have they no fear -lest they lose their way, with the old landmarks -obliterated? Doesn’t it strike terror to the -heart when they find their doorway blocked, and -themselves snowed up in burrow or hole? Yet, -judging by outside evidence, it would seem that -none of these things daunt them; an obstacle is -merely something to be surmounted.</p> - -<p>To my mind the most pathetic thing about -it all is the fact that their chief fear seems to be -fear of human beings, a dread of the very ones -who could, and ought to, befriend them.</p> - -<p>In my clearing I moved a small wooden box -that had been used for seedlings, and since had -lain unnoticed beside a hedge. Underneath a -tiny field mouse had taken refuge. It seemed -almost paralysed with terror when I suddenly -lifted the box, and escape was blocked on every<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> -side by banks of snow. The poor little thing -just sat up on its hind legs and looked at me -most pitifully. I can’t say that I exactly cultivate -mice, in an ordinary way, but—here was a -fellow-creature in distress, such a little one too; -I couldn’t have refused its appeal. I quickly -put the box over it again, and clearing a space -by the hole it had used as a door, I put down -some bird-seed—I always carry something in -my coat pocket for the birds—and I went away. -Ten minutes later, every bit was gone.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Working my way round to another thicket -of rhododendrons, that is a bank of purple and -creamy white in June, once more I sent the -silver-dust flying with my trusty broom. As one -great mass came hurtling down, it so deluged -me that for the moment I had to hold my breath, -shut my eyes, and clutch on to a branch to keep -myself from being buried under it. And then I -heard a tragic whimper.</p> - -<p>Turning round, I saw the small white dog, -shaking himself out of the mass—and such a -dingy-dirty object his <i>passé</i> white coat looked -against the snow! I had left him indoors, a -melancholy little figure, very sorry for himself, -by reason of a swelled face. He will persist in -lying with his nose to the bottom crack of the -back door, irrespective of wind or weather, ever -hopeful that a hare or a fox may come trailing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> -by; and then—oh joy! what a turmoil there is -within (he quite fancies he is “baying”), and -what a scurrying of fur and feet without!</p> - -<p>Having got him in, and rubbed him down, -and wrapped him up in his favourite bit of old -blanket, and given him a bone (which he couldn’t -eat, poor little chap, but he had it in his basket -with him, against such times as his mouth was -in working order again), I returned to the garden—you -couldn’t have kept me out of it now! I -found I didn’t need the hug-me-tight, however, -and I left it on the orchard gate.</p> - -<p>What a work it was, tumbling over stone -edgings one forgot were there, tripping over tree -trunks and logs—the whole place seemed strewn -with obstacles one never noticed until the snow -covered them over.</p> - -<p>I picked myself up continually, and worked on -with my broom. Virginia came up once to point -out to me my appalling lack of scientific method; -but as I have never had any illusions on this -point, it didn’t worry me. Ursula volunteered -the information that I looked like Don Quixote -tilting at a windmill, each time I attacked a -bush or tree. I knew she was merely jealous of -my ability. I’m not one to let a little thing -like that deter me from my course of well-doing. -I merely took off my fur necklet and thick -motor scarf, and left them on a stile, so sunburnt -was I getting beneath them.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span></p> - -<p>And how grateful even the dry cracking -twigs of the rose bushes seemed to be for the -lifting of the load that bowed down one and all. -The hollies had been trying bravely to hold up -their heads, but it was hard work; every leaf -had held out a little curved hand to catch a few -snowflakes as they fell, and the total result was -a mound that threatened to break the trees to -pieces. They, too, shook themselves cheerfully, -when I relieved them of their burden.</p> - -<p>I could not do much to help the lesser -plants; they were mostly buried beneath the -snow, and I hoped they were the warmer in -consequence. The poor wallflowers, that had -been so sprightly with opening yellow buds when -we arrived, now showed only shrivelled branches -above the snow.</p> - -<p>As I broomed my way towards the vegetable -garden, I noticed that the birds were gathering -near—they had kept away before, while the dog -was about. But now the starlings began to -shriek from the roof of the big barn. “Look at -her! Look at her! What’s the use of wasting -time on rose trees! No grub’s there! Look at -her! Shaking snow down! Just as though -there wasn’t enough on the ground before!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, do be quiet!” shouted back a rook. -“Just look at our nest! It would have been -such an up-to-date affair, too; wife built it on the -new war-economy lines—clever bird my wife is—only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> -three sticks, you know; saves waste; -and <i>now</i> look at it! Wife can’t even find the -sticks!”</p> - -<p>“Serves her right,” cawed a neighbour (a lady, -I feel sure). “She shouldn’t have started so -early—always trying to get ahead of everyone -else with her spring cleaning!”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The sun had got the better of the clouds, and -had changed the whole earth from grey to gold, -from dead white to a gleaming brilliance, yellow -in the sunlight, blue—undiluted blue—in the -shade. I had seen blue snow in pictures, and -had hitherto regarded it as an artistic exaggeration. -But now I saw the blue with my own -eyes on the north side of the walls and barns, -and where long shadows were cast by the -Wellingtonia, the hollies, and the evergreen firs. -The mist still hovered over the valleys, and shut -us off from the lower lands, but it was no longer -cold and sombre; indeed, it was no longer mist -at all; it seemed just light enmeshed, a liquid -golden atmosphere.</p> - -<p>The snow gleamed and scintillated with its -diamond-dusted surface; the trunks of the Scots -firs surprised one with the sudden warmth of red -they showed when struck by the sunbeams, and -the lovely colour still left in their blue-green -foliage.</p> - -<p>Far and wide the birds answered the call of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> -the sun. Big pinions flew across the sky, casting -shadows on the snow-scape as they passed; small -birds darted in and out of holes in tree trunks, or -crannies under the eaves; there was a cheeping -and a chattering all over the garden and the -orchard; while up and down the larches flitted -the tits—the blue-tits swinging upside down, -almost turning somersaults, as the notion chanced -to take them; the coal-tits, any number of them, -skipping about from branch to branch, never -still a moment, always talking in their brisk -little twitter; while over all there rang incessantly -the “Pinker, pinker, peter, peter,” of the -great-tit.</p> - -<p>Near at hand, robin, my little garden companion, -was having a good deal to say. At first -I think he was reiterating what he had often -said before: that he considered the dog a -nuisance that ought to be banished from any -properly conducted garden, since his habit of -chasing every moving object within sight was -disturbing, to say the least of it, to a conscientious -worm-hunter.</p> - -<p>Having finished on this subject, he began to -talk about other things; but try as I would, I -could not understand what he said; yet I knew -he was trying to tell me <i>something</i>. He kept -taking short flights over to the wall, and then -back to some branch near at hand. “Twitter, -twitter,” he kept on saying; yet he never even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> -noticed the path I was clearing, back he would -fly to the wall.</p> - -<p>At last, as he impatiently fluffed out his -feathers, perched on a white currant bush, till he -looked like a ball, saying a lot more the while, I -made my way through the snow to the wall. -He darted after me, and stood on top of a mound -of leaves that had been swept together last -autumn, and left to stand till the spring digging -should start. Being on the south side of the -wall, and sheltered a little by the wide-spreading -branches of a big Spanish chestnut, it had -escaped a good deal of the snow, though it was -frozen hard on the surface.</p> - -<p>Here robin stood, and when he saw I was -looking at him, he pecked several times with his -beak at the solid mass. Then he flicked his tail -and gazed at me. “Surely you understand what -I want?” he said with his beady eyes. “No? -Oh! how stupid human beings are! Well, -watch me again!” Dab, dab, dab, went the -small beak once more, without making the -slightest impression on the ice-bound lumps.</p> - -<p>Then I grew intelligent.</p> - -<p>“Out of the way,” I said to him, and he flew -to a low branch of the tree and watched me -critically, while I drove the spade well into the -mass.</p> - -<p>“That’s right,” he chirped out excitedly, as I -turned it over and got down to the softer portion,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> -spreading the leaves about. “Why on earth -couldn’t you have done that sooner!” as he -swooped down to my very feet and seized something -wriggly—gulp! I looked away.</p> - -<p>What ninety-ninth sense is it, I wonder, that -tells birds when food is about? One moment -robin and I had the chestnut tree and its environment -to ourselves. Next moment, directly I -turned away, down came thrushes, and blackbirds, -and starlings; and though robin put his -foot down firmly, said it was all his, every worm -of it, and dared anyone else to touch so much as -a caterpillar-egg, or he’d know the reason why, -he was outdone by numbers, and finally lost -what he might have had because he considered -it his duty to chastise Mr. Over-the-wall-robin, -who had presumed to say that the leaf-heap -belonged to him!</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>At last I got to the top gate, which is about -one hundred feet higher than the lower part of -the garden. What a wonderful world I gazed -upon, so weird, so immensely mysterious it -looked under the great snow covering. The -valleys where the sun did not penetrate were -entirely blotted out by soft mist. One seemed -to be alone, high up in space, girdled about by -white and grey, gold and mauve and steely-blue; -I wanted to push on and on, to walk -miles and miles, to fly if I could. The fact<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> -was, the exhilaration of the keen pure atmosphere -was already beginning to tell on me, and -was fast mounting to my head.</p> - -<p>One thing I caught sight of on the opposite -hills gave me pause for thought: it was a larch-wood -in which every tree was blown so far over -to one side, that there would be but little chance -of their ever recovering or getting into the upright. -I remembered that the handy man had -told us trees were lying in all directions out in -the main road. I decided to climb still higher -up the hill and see what my own woods looked -like. First, however, I took off the big coat, -and left it hanging on the under bough of a -larch inside the gate.</p> - -<p>Out of the top gate I went, and along the lane -that now showed a moderately hard path along -the centre, where one and another had trampled -it down. A few yards brought me to a field -that in June is one dazzling, waving mass of -moon daisies, mauve pyramidal orchises, rich -purple orchises, quaking grass, and a hundred -other flowers besides. Not a first class hay-crop, -I admit; still, a fair-sized rick stands in one -corner. And although it may not possess strong -feeding qualities for cattle, this field has wonderful -feeding qualities for mind and soul; I’ve -lived on it many and many a day through dreary -London fogs and amid dirty City pavements and -sordid-looking bricks and mortar. And when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> -town has seemed unendurable, with its noise and -its hustle and its brain-and-body-wearying chase -after the unnecessary, I’ve thought of the brook -that slips out from among a great mass of -Hard Fern in the birch and hazel coppice up -above, and wanders across the orchis field, with -ragged robins fluttering their tattered pink petals -beside the sterner browns and greens of flowering -reeds, and broad masses of marsh mint—that is -a mass of bluey-mauve in August—spreading in -big clumps and bosses wherever it can find a bit -of damp earth.</p> - -<p>I’ve shut my eyes in the noisy City train, -and in a moment I’ve gathered a big bunch of -the quaking grass, brown, with a tinge of purple, -and the yellow stamens dangling from each little -tuft. And the comfort that the brook and the -orchises and the reeds and the under carpet of -tiny flowers have brought me, has been worth -more to me, personally, than the money that -twenty haystacks might have realised.</p> - -<p>But to-day the field was just one white sheet, -like all the rest of the landscape. Along the -south side of the wall the snow was not so -heavy, and using the broom as an alpenstock, -I plodded up the field—giving a wide berth to -the place where the brook was down below—till -at last I reached the woods, first a coppice of -birch and hazel and oak, and adjoining it a -larch-wood.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span></p> - -<p>Once under the trees, the going was “all -according”! It depended on whether the snow -was still on the branches, or had come down in -small avalanches to the ground beneath. But I -determined to struggle on. I was warmer than -I had been since the previous summer, and more -pleased with life than I had been since before -the War started. The larch-wood offered the -easier travelling, since there are not the down-drooping, -low-lying branches of sundries that are -always catching at one’s hat and hair in the -mixed woods. With the larches you know just -what to expect and where to find it. The -needles make a fairly soft carpet, brambles are -rare, and all you have to do is to gauge the level -of the lowest of the bare brown branches, and -pitch your head accordingly.</p> - -<p>I looked at the wood before I ventured in. -Everything seemed as usual. The outside trees -that border the field are mixed firs, pines, and -Wellingtonia. These do not shed their leaves -as the larches do, and they stood up strong and -erect, save where the heaviest laden boughs were -bending under their weight of snow.</p> - -<p>For the first few yards the trees were normal, -standing in orderly ranks, much like the aisles of -an old ruined cathedral, wherein the snow has -freedom of entry. Every twig, every cone, had -its glistening decoration. When a gust of wind -shook tree or branches, down came the snow, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> -powder for the most part, for the under branches -broke the masses as they fell, and sent them -flying in all directions.</p> - -<p>Suddenly I emerged from the sombre half -light of the wood, into brilliant sunshine, with -clear space above. Yet—I wasn’t through the -wood; what did it mean? And what were -these great white masses that blocked all further -progress? I had never seen this spot before, -though I know every tree in that wood; to me -they are like individual children.</p> - -<p>Then I saw that what lay before me was a -piled-up mass of trees, torn bodily up by the -roots and lying in all directions one on top of each -other. For a moment something almost akin -to fear seized me, the awesomeness that comes -over one when in the presence of a force that is -utterly beyond one’s puny power to compass or -restrain. Here was a footprint, indeed, of the -storm that had done this stupendous thing.</p> - -<p>The fringe of the wood all round was intact; -the blizzard seemingly having swirled down, a -veritable whirlwind, into the very centre of the -plantation, tearing the trees out of the ground, -and flinging them about in uncontrolled fury.</p> - -<p>It was an impressive sight—even with the -kindly snow covering up the wounds and the -gashes, and doing its best to obliterate the harsh -look of devastation that lay over the scene.</p> - -<p>Retracing my steps, I ran into another<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> -explorer who was likewise trying to dodge a -snow-bath round a tree trunk.</p> - -<p>It was Virginia.</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry to interrupt your meditations,” -she said politely, “and I won’t detain you a -moment. I’ve merely come to ask if you would -mind lending me your rubbers—not your best -ones you have on, but the second best with the -seven holes in the soles and one heel gone—in -order that I may go to the neighbours and borrow -a slice of bread. ‘We ain’t like them as asks,’” -she went on, quoting a favourite expression -of a well-known whiner in the village, whose -practice is to take without asking, “‘but it do -seem hard when you see yer own flesh and blood -a-crying for vittels.’ Not that I would presume -to interfere with your household arrangements -and upset your meals, but what with Ursula in -a dead faint making her will, and Eileen packing -up to return to her grandmother in order to get -something to eat——”</p> - -<p>“What’s the time?” I cut her short.</p> - -<p>“It was two when last I saw the clock, but -I’ve wandered miles since then in search of you, -hence the fact that my own rubbers are worn -out.”</p> - -<p>Then I remembered that I had never mentioned -the matter of meals to Eileen that -morning; though, in any case, there wasn’t much -that could be cooked till that sheep was killed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> -come Friday: we had naught but the remains of -a shoulder of mutton.</p> - -<p>“How did you find where I was?” I enquired, -as we ploughed our way back.</p> - -<p>“Footprints, oh, blessed word!” she said. -“In any case, you shed your garments wherever -you went, and thoughtfully left your coat hanging -in the larch avenue; Eileen saw it in the -distance and came shrieking to us that the -burglar had evidently hung himself from a tree -by the top gate!”</p> - -<p>As there proved to be nothing at all on the -mutton bone, we decided to reckon it a meatless -day, and we sat down to a lunch of bread and -cheese and coffee—each reading a cookery book -the while. The Food Authorities surely couldn’t -object to <i>that!</i>—and you’ve no idea what a -fillip it gives to a war-meal, if you’ve never -tried it.</p> - -<p>Collecting cookery books, ancient and modern, -being one of my hobbies, there was a fine assortment -to choose from. I selected “Ten Minutes -with my Chafing Dish,” and what that author -did in the time you would never credit! My -bread and cheese became, in turn, braised terrapin, -crayfish omelette, creamed oysters with -Spanish onions, escalloped chicken with mushrooms, -and fricaseed trout with paprika sauce.</p> - -<p>I had it all at the one meal, no questions -asked about the number of courses and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> -ounces of flour, and it only cost me about sixpence -including the coffee.</p> - -<p>Ursula, who had annexed a 1724 volume, ate -her frugalities to the accompaniment of Double -Rum Shrub; but, as I told her, I was thankful -I had been better brought up.</p> - -<p>Virginia chose “The Scientific Adjustment -of Food Values”; and, before she had got -through the first chapter, started to blame me -for giving them cheese <i>and</i> butter, when I might -know that both contained a sweeping majority -of proteids. Whereas, what she found she really -needed was cheese and water-melon (though -cantaloupe might take its place), and why wasn’t -there water-melon (or cantaloupe) on the table? -She had known all her life long that she needed -it—always had an undefinable longing steal o’er -her about twelve o’clock midday and again at -four-thirty—but her want had never been made -articulate before, simply because she wasn’t sure -of the name of the missing link. Now, however, -if I expected to retain my hold on their -affections, she must really ask me to see that -water-melon——</p> - -<p>But I was too deep in the enjoyment of a -dish of anchovy and caviare canapes at the -moment to interfere. I left her at it.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>In the afternoon, as we were short of milk, -I suggested that we should go ourselves to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> -Jones’s farm in search of more. There was a -beaten track along the lanes now, so we took -the tin milk-can and started off uphill, thereby -just missing the Head of Affairs, who came -swinging up the road from the village. Having -seen the finally departing back of the very last -workman, he had caught the next train and -arrived unannounced.</p> - -<p>The wind was keen when he got up out of -the valley, so he turned up his coat collar and -rammed his cap well on his head. Finding the -cottage door locked, he knocked briskly and -started to inquire for me, when Eileen (whom -he had never seen before, remember) opened -the door in response to his knock. But, to his -amazement, before he got a couple of words out, -the door was banged to, in his face, and he was -informed through the large keyhole—</p> - -<p>“The lady is not—I mean—she <i>is</i> at home, -but she is engaged; she is—er—she is entertaining -friends and can’t see anyone.”</p> - -<p>Exceedingly bewildered, the caller waited a -minute, trying in vain to catch sounds of hilarity -within, and then rapped again; and, as the keyhole -seemed the correct channel of communication, -he said through the aperture—</p> - -<p>“Kindly tell your mistress that her husband -is here.”</p> - -<p>There was a pause, then the voice within -said—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span></p> - -<p>“The lady is sorry she can’t see <i>anyone</i> to-day, -as she is ill in bed.”</p> - -<p>The mystery thickened. Going round to -the back door, which was also locked, the caller -rapped more vigorously still. This time an -agitated voice wailed from the inside—</p> - -<p>“Are you still there? Oh, <i>please</i> go away!”</p> - -<p>But, though he was exceedingly astonished -at this curious reception, he had no intention of -going, and he said so. Eileen’s next question -was unexpected.</p> - -<p>“What is your Christian name?” she began. -He told her. “What is the colour of your -hair?”</p> - -<p>He proceeded to describe himself, and -added—</p> - -<p>“If you have any doubt about me, let the -dog out, he’ll soon tell you if I’m a genuine case -or an impostor.”</p> - -<p>The dog was whining inside, and trying frantically -to get out. The girl debated, and then -said—</p> - -<p>“All right; but you won’t mind waiting a -minute?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, not at all!” he replied, with sweet -sarcasm. “I don’t mind in the least how long -I stand here in the cold. I quite enjoy it.”</p> - -<p>Then suddenly the door was flung open, and -Eileen, holding a photo of the Head of Affairs -in her hand, which she had fetched down from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> -my bedroom, started to compare it carefully -with the original.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she sighed; “you are something -like it.”</p> - -<p>But the visitor had walked in unceremoniously, -with the joyful dog leaping around.</p> - -<p>“Now,” he said severely, as he took off his -coat. “Where is your mistress?”</p> - -<p>Eileen looked mournful. “If you please, -sir, I’m <i>very</i> sorry, but I told you a <i>wicked</i> -story just now. The mistress isn’t entertaining -friends”—that was self-evident, as the cottage -living-rooms were empty, and it was hardly the -kind of day one would choose to entertain -friends in the garden—“and she isn’t ill in bed -neither. She isn’t here at all. But I didn’t like -to say so at first. I was afraid, not knowing -who you were, and coming after the shock. -Have you heard the awful news?”</p> - -<p>“No!” exclaimed the harassed, hungry man, -jumping to his feet again in alarm. “What’s -happened?”</p> - -<p>“Haven’t you heard?” and Eileen lowered -her voice to an hysterical whisper. “<i>We’ve -discovered footprints!</i>”</p> - -<p>By this time the Head of Affairs was quite -convinced in his mind that either the girl was -not in the full possession of her senses, or else she -had been to see a Robinson Crusoe pantomime, -and it had turned her brain, so he merely said—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Well, perhaps you’ll now try if you can -discover some coffee, and that as quickly as -possible.” And he dismissed her when he had -ascertained where we had gone, as he was rather -weary of the whole performance.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Meanwhile my guests and I were making a -few neighbourly calls in passing. In a scattered -community that is often cut off by the weather -from intercourse with its fellow-kind, a little -gossip is always welcome. Not idle gossip, I -would have you understand; but talk on things -of serious import. For instance, I was naturally -very glad to learn from one of my neighbours -that old Mrs. Blossom had not been secretly -harbouring a German spy after all, as it turned -out that the masculine under-vests that had been -hung out each week lately with the wash really -belonged to her late husband; and after cherishing -them for five years, she had decided it was -more patriotic to wear them herself at a time -like this, than to buy herself new ones when -wool was so badly needed for the troops.</p> - -<p>It was a real satisfaction to get this mystery -cleared up at last, as her clothes-line each -Monday morning (when the weather was fine) -had worried us greatly. When I say “us” I -don’t mean myself necessarily, because I fear I -hadn’t kept track of her washing as I ought to -have done if I called myself a friend and neighbour.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> -Most remiss of me, of course. Still, -there it was; and I had no need now to creep -along beside the hedge and take an inventory of -her garments; neither need I fear for the safety -of our hill.</p> - -<p>Fortunately, with us time is of no importance, -the clock really doesn’t signify, even -if it goes, which isn’t guaranteed; we divide -the day into three meals, which are regulated -by the three trains that puff up the valley, -week-days only. Sunday is more of a problem, -if you have children to be got off to -Sunday-school; but as Mrs. Jasper has the one -reliable clock up in our corner of the hills, her -children set the pace; and when Maudie Jasper’s -starched China silk Sunday frock is seen to be -coming along the lane, accompanied by other -little Jaspers in Lord Fauntleroy blue velvet -suits and a bunch of everlasting pea, blush roses -and southernwood for teacher, then the two or -three other cottages in the vicinity hurry up and -add their quota to the little procession that -walks decorously (so long as it is in sight of -maternal eyes) down the hillside trail to the -Sunday-school in the valley.</p> - -<p>Of course awkward mistakes sometimes -happen, as they do in the best of well-regulated -families. It was so on the occasion of the first -introduction of Daylight Saving. Naturally the -weekly newspaper and the vicar and the schoolmaster,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> -and everybody, had explained to everybody -else that on a certain Saturday night the -clock must be put forward one hour, etc. We -are anything but behind the times on our hills, -and no clocks in the whole of the British Isles -were set forward an hour more eagerly than ours -were; only, obviously, if you haven’t a clock -that goes, you can’t set it forward; therefore -our little corner looked feverishly in the direction -of the Jasper clock, and frequently reminded -the Jaspers of their national duty.</p> - -<p>To make quite sure that the important rite -wasn’t overlooked, Mrs. Jasper put the hands of -the clock on an hour when first she got up on the -Saturday morning, instead of last thing at night, -as the authorities had decreed. An hour more -or less made no difference to the family, seeing -that it was Saturday and no school to be thought -of. Meals came as a matter of course, and quite -irrespective of clocks. Mrs. Jasper knew that if -she didn’t see to the thing no one else would. -So she got it off her mind nice and early.</p> - -<p>Later in the day Mr. Jasper thought of the -new official regulations <i>re</i> Daylight Saving; and -knowing the uselessness of ever hoping to get a -brain that was merely feminine to grasp any -great truth as set forth in newspapers, he himself -put the clock on an hour; as master of the -house he regarded it as his peculiar office to see -that the law was duly enforced. He didn’t<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> -mention the matter to his wife; what would be -the good? And it wasn’t her concern anyhow; -but as he shut the door of the clock, he wondered -where indeed the household would be if -it were not for him and his thoughtful habits!</p> - -<p>Then there was Maudie Jasper. Being a -bright child of twelve, brought up on modern -educational lines, naturally she had no very high -opinion of her parents’ intellects. Since it was -she who illumined the home with the torch of -learning, she felt it devolved on her to see -that the clock kept abreast of current events. -Besides, she was a shining example in the matter -of Sunday-school tickets; she didn’t intend to -be late next morning. So she, too, put on the -hands an hour.</p> - -<p>It was just as Mrs. Jasper was going upstairs -to bed at night, tired out with the Saturday night -bathing of the children, that the clock stared -her in the face, and the question arose: Had -she, or had she not, put on that clock an hour -as she had meant to? Her memory isn’t good -at the best of times, and she was especially done -up with a day that somehow had not seemed -<i>nearly</i> long enough for its accustomed duties, -though she couldn’t make out why. But to -make quite sure, she gave the hands a flick -round; better be quite certain than have Maudie -late for Sunday-school. Only she did wish they -didn’t leave <i>everything</i> for her to do!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span></p> - -<p>Next morning, when the Vicar drew up his -blind at 7 <small>A.M.</small>, as is his unfailing wont, he saw a -small group of children standing forlornly outside -the Sunday-school door, waiting for the -10 o’clock opening!</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Mrs. Jasper’s was the next cottage we called -at, to inquire after her husband, who was now at -the front. Mrs. Jasper was delighted to see us, -and of course asked if we had further news of -the burglar, the fame of our footprints having -spread far and wide. She told us all about the -neuralgia in her head, and seemed much relieved -when we assured her that it was not at -all likely to turn to appendicitis.</p> - -<p>She had had a lurking fear that if it became -appendicitis, she would have to go to a hospital, -and she hadn’t much belief in hospitals. There -was her sister’s little boy Tommy, up in London, -just four years old, and all nerves, as you may -say; screamed and kicked like anything if you -didn’t give him what he wanted the moment he -asked for it. They couldn’t do nothing with -him.</p> - -<p>At last they decided to take him to a hospital; -so her sister-in-law and “his” mother -went with her. And what do you think the -doctor said, after they’d told him the symptoms? -“Temper,” he says; “just bad temper. Take -him home, and spank him next time it comes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> -on.” And that was all they got!—cost them -fivepence each for car-fares too!</p> - -<p>We asked after her own family. Maudie -was getting on splendidly at school, “really a -first-class scholard she is, although it’s I that say -it. Can read the Bible beautifully now—or at -any rate the Testament” (with a desire to be -absolutely truthful). “And when I’m writing -to her father, and can’t quite rec’lect how to -spell a word, she can tell me two or three -different ways of spelling it, right off pat!”</p> - -<p>At the next cottage we stopped to inquire -after a man who had met with an accident, -which necessitated the amputation of one leg -below the knee. Having given him all our own -“Surgical Aid” letters, and fleeced our friends of -theirs, I naturally asked why he wasn’t wearing -the artificial limb that had been procured? (it -was reposing artistically on the top of the chest -of drawers in the kitchen, a stuffed sea-gull under -a glass shade on one side, balanced by a wedding-cake-top-ornament -under glass on the other). -Wasn’t it comfortable? I asked. Didn’t it fit?</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes’m, thank you; it fits beautiful. -But that’s my <i>best</i> leg; and the missus likes me -to keep it there where she can show it to everyone, -and I only uses it for Sundays and Bank -’Ollerdis.”</p> - -<p>Then we looked in on Mrs. Granger, a happy-go-lucky -widow who is always passing round the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> -hat. When we knocked at the kitchen door, -she was pouring down the sink the liquor in -which she had just boiled a piece of bacon. I -couldn’t help asking mildly and deferentially: -“Have you ever tried using the liquor of boiled -bacon for making pea-soup? It’s very nourishing, -as well as tasty.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Granger smiled at me indulgently. -“Well, ma’am, seeing that I’ve buried two -husbands and three children, no one, I fancy, can -give <i>me</i> points about feeding a family!”</p> - -<p>At Mrs. Jones’s we made a longer call; we -simply had to, as we were wanting milk, and she -made no move to get it, but merely stood talking. -There was the mirror over the parlour mantelpiece, -she particularly wanted us to see that. -Arundel Jones (aged eleven) had smashed a hole -right through the glass when practising bomb-throwing -in there. But would you ever know it, -the way Patricia (aged seventeen) had decorated -it? And as we couldn’t think what to say, we -looked long and earnestly at the bunch of artificial -and rather faded roses from Patricia’s hat -that had been stuck in the hole, with some green -paint daubed around on the glass to represent -leaves. Fortunately, Mrs. Jones didn’t wait for -our opinion—took it for granted, indeed, since -there could only be one opinion about such -a masterpiece—and proceeded to ask what I -thought could be done with so artistic a girl.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span></p> - -<p>And that reminded her, could I tell her -where she could write to in London for some -Loop Canvas at a penny a yard? Patricia -wanted to make some slippers for a young man -friend of hers who was at the front, and sweetly -pretty too, with forget-me-nots all over; but it -said you must have penny Loop Canvas. She -had asked for it in Chepstow, but they had never -heard of it, the cheapest they had was 1<i>s.</i> 4¾<i>d.</i>, -and no loops in it at that. But, of course, you -could get everything in London.</p> - -<p>I had never heard of the canvas myself (and -I thought I knew most that was going!), but in -any case, she wouldn’t get any canvas at 1<i>d.</i> a -yard now, I told her; she had evidently got hold -of some very old directions.</p> - -<p>No, she hadn’t; it was in last week’s <i>Home -Snippets</i>, and she got the periodical out from -among an assortment of similar data under the -horse-hair sofa squab, to show me.</p> - -<p>There, under the heading—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">A Dainty Cosy-Comfort for your Boy -in the Trenches</span>,”</p></div> - -<p>it described how to make a pair of wool-work -slippers, commencing with “Get a yard of -Penelope canvas.”</p> - -<p>Then Mrs. Jones was uneasy about her step-daughter, -Kathleen, who was in service near -Chepstow. “The food’s all right; but the lady<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> -isn’t what I call a good wife—never thinks of -brushing her husband’s best clothes and putting -them away for him of a Monday morning, and -yet I’ve never once missed doing that since I -married Jones. And I assure you, when I -married him, he hadn’t a darned sock to his -back. I’m sorry Kathleen hasn’t a better example -before her, for she’s inclined to be flighty. -She’s got a week’s holiday next month, and -nothing will do but she must go and visit her -cousin, who is working at munitions in Cardiff. -I say to her, ‘Cardiff’s a nasty noisy place; why -don’t you go and visit your Aunt Lizzie at -Penglyn, she’s so worried she can hardly hold -her head up some days, and cries from morning -till night; and would be thankful to have someone -to talk things over with; or your father’s -Cousin Ann at Caerleon, they’ve had a sight of -trouble there, and never see a soul nor go out -of the house from week end to week end; they’d -love to have you.’ But no, it’s Cardiff she -wants,” and Mrs. Jones sighed at the unaccountable -taste of one-and-twenty!</p> - -<p>“Ah, no one knows what an anxiety that girl’s -been to me,” went on the buxom, good-natured -woman, who in reality never makes a trouble of -anything, and has been a real mother to Kathleen. -“I sometimes wonder why I married her -father! But there, I will say it looks better on -your tombstone to have ‘The beloved wife of,’<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> -rather than plain Martha Miggins (as I was), all -unbelongst to no one, as it were.”</p> - -<p>Don’t imagine for a moment that this implied -matrimonial divergence on the part of Mr. and -Mrs. Jones, for a more contented couple you -couldn’t find in the village. It is merely the -polite way we have, locally, of discounting our -blessings, lest we should seem to be flaunting -our happiness in the face of less fortunate people.</p> - -<p>“By the way,” she said, as we were going out -of the door, “have you heard who it was walked -around your place the other night? Well, now, -to think I should have forgotten to mention it, -but it was no one, after all, but the policeman! -My husband was over to the police-station this -morning about that mare we’ve lost, and he mentioned -it; and, sure enough, the policeman had got -it down in his book that he crossed the hill by our -road that night, and had looked over your house.”</p> - -<p>And then I remembered that there was -a police-station in the next village, that did -duty for a very wide area of miles. And it was -usual for the policeman to patrol from one village -to another, by various routes, last thing at night, -ascertaining if the inhabitants’ doors <i>en route</i> -were all duly locked. We were much relieved -in our minds, and started for home discussing -the situation, when Virginia suddenly said—</p> - -<p>“Surely that is our dog barking further along -the lane?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span></p> - -<p>We paused to listen.</p> - -<p>“Yes, it is,” I said in surprise. “Whatever -can he be doing out here?” and we hurried on; -for the dog is a valuable one, and is never let out -without an escort. A turn in the lane brought us -face to face with a tall, familiar masculine figure.</p> - -<p>“Why, wherever have you come from?” I -exclaimed.</p> - -<p>“I’ve just made my escape from the tame -lunatic who seems to be in charge of the cottage,” -said the Head of Affairs cheerfully, as he relieved -Ursula of the quart of milk. “And I would -suggest, my dear, that the next time you propose -to turn your house into a sanatorium for -‘Mentally Deficients,’ you might give your -family due notice. A shock like that isn’t good -for one after climbing such a hill.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>And he might not have been particularly -mollified when, later in the evening, Eileen -offered the following apology:—</p> - -<p>“I’m very sorry, sir, that I kept you waiting -outside all that time in the cold; only how was -I to know you were a gentleman, sir, when you -looked so <i>exactly</i> like a burglar?”</p> - -<p>But, fortunately, in the interval he had discovered, -in his dressing-room, a new-but-forgotten -pair of boots, and a not-at-all-bad-considering-it’s-war-time -overcoat; and, naturally, he was -inclined to take a roseate view of life.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>XI<br /> - -<small>Exit Eileen</small></h2> - - -<p class="unindent"><span class="smcap">It</span> was six months later, and about as broiling -a Sunday afternoon as London can produce. -Virginia and I were reading in the coolest spot -in the garden, when Abigail came out and -announced, with slight acidity, “That young -person wants to know if she can see you, madam. -I told her you were engaged, but she said she -would wait.”</p> - -<p>“What is her name?” I queried; there are -so many young persons in the world.</p> - -<p>“That Eileen!” she answered, this time -with a definite sniff.</p> - -<p>“She can come out here,” I said, and forthwith -there sailed across the lawn a vision such as -never before had graced my garden.</p> - -<p>Eileen was wearing a white Jap silk skirt; a -transparent rose pink blouse, that revealed the -satin ribbon and lace camisole beneath; pink -cotton open-work stockings; white shoes; one -of those long stoles made of metallic-looking, -lustre-brown fur, so beloved of the laundry girl; -a big white hat, trimmed with the most violent -of tangerine-coloured velvet, said velvet hanging -in festoons down the back, and loops of it caught -round the front and fastened to the fur stole—on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> -one side with a large would-be-diamond lizard, -about four inches long, and on the other with -a crescent of similar make. Her hair, which -was done in a wild imitation of the latest eccentricity -of fashion, was radiant with more crescents -and a sparkling three-tiered back comb. A -string of large pearls adorned her neck.</p> - -<p>To say I was taken aback at the sight, is to -put it mildly; I was fairly dumb with astonishment. -Where in the world had that demure, -mouse-like orphan been to pick up such ideas! -Even though I knew she had gone to work in a -munition factory, I wasn’t prepared for such -developments. She soon enlightened us.</p> - -<p>After mutual polite inquiries about each -other’s health, and a few more relative to the -grandmother, she folded her hands in her lap, -sat as though posing for a photograph, and then -said: “And please, how do you think I look?”</p> - -<p>“You are certainly very bright,” I stammered, -striving valiantly after truth.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I look very nice, don’t I?” she went -on; “and I felt I ought to come round and -show you, because, as I tell everybody, it’s all -entirely due to <i>you</i>, ma’am, that I’m so stylish. -I shouldn’t never have <i>thought</i> to dress like this, -if you hadn’t taught me how. And now I’m -going round to show myself to Mrs. Griggles.”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>XII<br /> - -<small>The Old Wood-House</small></h2> - - -<p class="unindent"><span class="smcap">The</span> old wood-house stands on the lee-side of a -belt of trees, part of the Squirrels’ Highway, as -we call it, that runs down one side of the Flower-patch, -sheltering it from the bleak north winds.</p> - -<p>Picture to yourself a building rather smaller -than a very small church, built of great blocks of -grey stone, with walls nearly two feet thick in -places, a red-tiled pointed roof, a door at one -end; and in case the walls should prove too -flimsy to stand the winter gales, huge stone -buttresses prop it up on the “off” side (i.e. the -side where the ground goes on running downhill), -lest the structure should take it into its -head to run down-hill too!</p> - -<p>In place of a spire, above the door, a weathercock -swings its arrow to the winds—at least, it -would swing it on any well-conducted apex, but -being merely mine it permanently points south. -Not that it is particular where it points; all it -asks is to be left in peace to close its eyes in -meditative contemplation of the landscape. We -occasionally get a ladder and then a long stick, -and move it round, trying to urge it to deeds of -derring-do, but it falls asleep the moment our -ministrations cease.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span></p> - -<p>The last time, it was a neighbouring farmer -who climbed the ladder to reason with it, after I -had assured him there was no penalty under -the Defence of the Realm Act for regulating -weathercocks. He was a bit reluctant to touch -it at first; as he said, what with clocks not being -allowed to tick as they pleased, and the time -being jiggered with anyhow, you didn’t know -where you was with nothing. But once I had -taken full responsibility for the affair, he went -up with right goodwill, and—forgetting that it -was the arrow alone that needed to move—he -gave a sturdy tug to the north, south, east, and -west arrangement, and sent the arms of that in -all directions.</p> - -<p>Then when we wanted to fix it up again, the -question arose, which was the north? A local -light supposed to know everything, who chanced -to be passing, was summoned for consultation. -After carefully surveying the various corners of -heaven, as though looking for enemy air-craft, he -said he didn’t know as he could say ezackly -which wur the north, unless he had summat to -tell him (we all felt like that, too!); but if we -would a-float a needle on the top of a basin of -water, then either the point of the needle—or—le’s -see? maybe ’twas the heye, he wasn’t quite -certain which—would point to the north, for -sure.</p> - -<p>Well, all hands rushed for basins and needles,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> -as you may suppose; because, whether it was -the point or the eye didn’t matter much, since -we knew the direction in which the north lay; -all we wanted was the precise angle. But alas, -every needle promptly sank to the bottom of the -basin, without so much as a kick!</p> - -<p>Eventually we refixed the north pole approximately, -pending such time as the Head of Affairs -should arrive, when I knew we could rely on the -small compass at the end of his watch chain. -But Virginia, who uses the weathercock more -than most of us, as she sees it from her bedroom -window, and says it is so useful to dress by, was -lugubriously certain his watch would be stolen -on the next journey down, and begged me to -place the arrow—still asleep—pointing south; -even an approximate south, she said, might at -least help to keep her spirits up, when a northeaster -was blowing.</p> - -<p>And south it remaineth unto this day, despite -all our blandishments, and probably will do so -till the end of the War, when the retirement of -the Food Controller—who, presumably, supervises -weathercocks—may permit of our using a -modicum of grease.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The old wood-house (which, by the way, was -originally used for coals, though no trace of this -is left upon its clean, lime-washed interior) is the -first building you run across as you enter by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> -top gate, which is the widest entrance we -possess. Here you step from the lane right into -a tiny larch plantation, and the path to the -cottage is arched over with the boughs of the -trees, while the brown cones crunch under your -boots, or roll away down the steep incline of the -path when your foot touches them. It was -among these trees that a small clearing was -made in the distant past to accommodate this -particular out-building; though why the coal-house -was considered the most artistic bit of -bric-à-brac to greet you as you enter the main -gate is not clear.</p> - -<p>The actual outline of the building is not -remarkable, being merely four walls and a -pointed roof, with a door and a window; but at -least it looks simple, dignified, and solid, and -what it lacks in architectural decoration has been -supplied by Nature herself. When we first saw -it, we called it the private chapel; but later on -I found Abigail & Co. calling it the picture -palace.</p> - -<p>At any rate, there it stands, shadowed by -great oaks seemingly immovable, with their -gnarled wide-stretching arms spread as in blessing -over the lowlier woodland things; a big -Spanish chestnut, though tardy in coming into -leaf, scatters worthless burrs around later on, -with generous goodwill; a walnut-tree invites -the passer-by to rub its aromatic leaves, and is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> -there any treasure-trove quite like the walnuts -that one finds in the long wet grass on a windy -autumn morning? Larches and firs make shady -colonnades, with their straight uprising shafts, -and dark drooping branches; silver birches, -always graceful, no matter how they may have -had to twist their trunks to accommodate themselves -to their environment, give lightness and -vivacity to the whole.</p> - -<p>Incense there is in abundance. The warm -resinous odour of the larches is always abroad; -mountain-ash-trees load the air with scent in -the late spring, and are ablaze with crimson in -August. Two or three lichen-covered, twisted -old apple-trees hang out bunches of pale-green -mistletoe, for all to see during the winter months, -and then surprise one with a bride-like flush of -white and pink in the spring. Where the sun is -brightest, a big hawthorn carpets the ground -with white petals in May.</p> - -<p>Then there are the lovely limes—and the -lime-tree is much more of a stately lady than is -realized by those who only know the sad, -maimed and distorted stumps that disfigure -suburban gardens in London. But see this lime-tree -that forms a link in the Squirrels’ Highway! -Its trunk measures about ten feet round. Under -the shadow of its drooping far-sweeping branches -you could give a small Sunday-school treat. -Though the lowest branches spring from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> -trunk at least nine feet from the ground, their -far ends touch the grass, forming a complete -tent of translucent green and gold as you look -upwards, through a multitude of layers of leaves, -to a sun you cannot see, but which seems to -have turned the whole tree into a rippling mass -of molten colour. And when it shakes out its -bunches of scented yellow blossoms, and trails -them by the thousand down each branch and -stem, then indeed the lime-tree is a lovely lady, -and the bees and the butterflies come from far -and near to pay her homage.</p> - -<p>And each tree has a special and distinct -winter-beauty of its own in the outline of -branches and stems and twigs—a beauty that is -lost to us once the leaves appear, but which -suggests an exquisite etching in winter when -the dark lines are silhouetted against the sky. -The most graceful is the birch, with its light -tracery of fine filaments, often with tassel-like -catkins dangling at the end. The oak and beech -give the impression of enormous strength in the -ease with which they fling outright their massive -arms with seldom any tendency to droop.</p> - -<p>And each tree has its special and distinct -melody when the wind signals the forest -orchestra; there is the sea-surge of the beeches, -the swish of the heavily plumed firs, the rain-sound -of the twinkling aspen, the soft whisper -of the birches, the æolian hum of the pines, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> -the sibilant rustle of the dead leaves still clinging -to the winter oak.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Outside the wood-house door there is a little -clearing adjoining the grove of trees, where a -perfect thicket of wild flowers smiles at you for -the greater part of the year. First come the -early violets clustering about the roots of the -trees, and in the shelter of the grey rock fragments; -while primroses dot the grass with their -crinkly leaves, and then send up pink stems -covered with silver sheen, and delicately scented -flowers each as big as a penny. Oxlips grow on -the bank that borders one side of the clearing.</p> - -<p>Later, it is an expanse of moon-daisies—thousands -of them swaying the whole day long -to the motion of the wind like the ever-restless -surface of the sea. And with the moon-daisies -are buttercups, crimson clover, rosy-purple knapweed, -spikes of pink orchis delicately pencilled -with mauve—all trying to grow to the height of -the big yellow-eyed daisies; while here and -there ruddy spears of sorrel out-top them all.</p> - -<p>Tall grasses of every kind are here, some like -a fine translucent veil of purple, others grey, or a -pinky-green; some shaking out yellow or heliotrope -stamens; some ever trembling like the -quaking-grass—but all mingling with the tall -flowers, softening the surface of the mass of -white blossoms that seem in the sunshine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> -almost too dazzling to look upon, were it not -for the mist of the grasses that envelops -them.</p> - -<p>Underneath the tall flowers there is a -wonderful carpet of lesser-growing things—masses -of trefoil, the yellow blossoms often -touched with fiery orange; patches of heath bed-straw, -with its myriads of tiny gleaming white -flowers, cling to any spot where the grasses leave -it room to breathe, its first cousin, the woodruff, -preferring a shadier part of the bank at the side—the -bank where the wild strawberries grow to -a luscious size, and whortleberry bushes add a -touch of wildness to the spot.</p> - -<p>The smaller clovers, both yellow and white, -seem to thrive under the bigger flowers, where -most else would suffocate. Pink-tipped daisies -bloom wherever they can find room to hold up a -little face. Rosy-pink vetches wander about at -pleasure, and pretend they are going to do great -things when they start to climb the stems of the -moon-daisies.</p> - -<p>Where the big fir trees throw a shadow, and -the sun only touches the grass when it is getting -round to the west, foxgloves send up shafts of -colour and the pale-blue spiked veronica carpets -the ground.</p> - -<p>Still further back, where the sunshine never -penetrates, even here something strives to give -beauty to barrenness and soften austerity, for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> -small-leaved ivy starts to climb the hard tree -trunks, undoubtedly one of the most beautiful of -the many living things that are neighbour to the -old wood-house.</p> - -<p>And always in the grass there lie the snapped-off -twigs and branches of the larches, with their -brown picots up stems that are studded with -exquisite cones. We strive hard to better -Nature, to make new designs, to evolve fresh -beauty; but with all our skill and experiments -we have yet to improve on the cone as a design, -with its rhythmic re-iteration of the one small -motif and the perfection of its proportions. In -my mind it ranks with the smoked-silver seed -ball of the dandelion, both of them examples of -absolute beauty derived from the simplest of -outlines.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The walls of the wood-house have their share -of green; on the north side an ivy, with a -gnarled main stem the size of a fair sized tree -trunk, sends evergreen branches over roof as -well as walls. Outside the door, which opens -to the south, stone-crop has planted itself in -masses among the stones, a perfect carpet of it, -that in June is a bright yellow. In the “good -old times,” before my day, the stone-crop served -as a convenient spot on which to dump the coal -sacks!</p> - -<p>On the western side where the ground drops<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> -down—a warm, snug and sheltered bank—in the -long grass white violets bloom by the thousand -in the early spring, their sweet little blossoms -streaked with mauve, nestling up to the old grey -walls with the trustfulness of little children. -Add to this long-fronded ferns growing out from -among the wall stones, and you have an idea of -the geography of the place.</p> - -<p>On a hot day the cool shade on the north -side is an ideal resting place; on a chilly day the -south side gives you a shield from the wind. -A pile of tree trunks and old logs lying outside -fairly ask you to sit for a moment and take in -some of the loveliness of the scene—you can -never exhaust the whole of it—and if you sit for -a minute you will probably sit there for hours.</p> - -<p>Here is absolute quiet of spirit, but never -silence. The trees are seldom still; all day and -all night the wind upon these hills sways the tall, -lithe tops of the larches to and fro, to and fro; -the leaves and the catkins of the birches are for -ever fluttering; the vibrant branches of the pines -hum and sing in the breezes, summer or winter; -the music of it all never ceases though it varies -in volume according to the season. On the -hottest summer days the grasses still sigh; the -bees hum all day long in the clover; the blue-tits -tweet and twitter as they swing about the -birches, and their cousins the coal-tits keep up -an endless run of comment in the larches. In<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> -May the nightingale comes into the grove to -sing; in June rival chaffinches perch on the top -spikes of certain spruce trees—always the same -bird on the same spike—and defy each other and -the world in general. The stock-dove croons -over its nest in the tallest firs, and the reddy-brown -squirrel scolds you severely if you are -coming too near his own particular chosen tree.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Inside the wood-house you may find many -things; some you are prepared for, some you -are not. In theory, it is sacred to the use of -the Head of Affairs, a sort of play-house and -workshop combined, wherein no handy man is -supposed to set foot, and no prying eyes are -supposed to discover that the owner is working -in a jersey, with no qualms over the absence of -waistcoat and stiff collar.</p> - -<p>But I often go in when I am anxious to be -alone and wanting many things that one cannot -put down in words. And knowing this, the -Head of Affairs doesn’t keep his best saws -there!—not the splendid big “Farmer’s Saw,” -with its doubly notched teeth, that run through -big fir trunks with amazing ease; nor the finer -tools that deal with the short snappy branches. -No, the saw that is left for such emergencies is -a nondescript article that has now a wavy—very -wavy—edge, and a few of its teeth doubled over; -a saw that seems as though you can never get it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> -well into the wood, and once you have got it in, -it can’t be got out again, much less be made to -move with soft purring motion.</p> - -<p>You see, I have individuality where sawing -is concerned, but it is useless to talk about it, for -I’ve come to the conclusion that whatever other -moral improvements a woman may manage to -effect in the man she marries, it is a lifework to -get him to a proper appreciation of her method -of goffering a saw!</p> - -<p>But I must beg you not to picture the wood-house -as the home of the miscellaneous collection -of nondescript oddments so indescribably dear to -every masculine heart. There is an outhouse -elsewhere that accommodates short lengths of -chain, pieces of wire netting, old locks, bits of -copper wire, staples and hooks, broken hinges -(that <i>might</i> be made do duty again, if any one -ever has a gate that prefers its hinges to be -broken), oil cans, a piece of lead pipe, various -lengths of iron rods, broom handles, stale putty, -old keys, a couple of invalided padlocks, and—well, -you know the type of things that every -self-respecting man likes to gather around him, -and keep handy, in case he might need them at -any moment.</p> - -<p>Unfortunately one of the many blighting -influences of town-life, for ever hindering the -full flowering of one’s better nature, is the lack -of the necessary space to stock such useful items.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> -But in the country one is not so hampered, and -one’s private marine store grows apace, and -differs only according to the temperament of the -collector. Indeed, I have come to the conclusion -that country air develops in man and -woman alike that tendency to hoard, which is so -noticeable in early childhood, when the small -girl collects buttons and clippings from her -mother’s sewing-room, and the small boy bulges -the blouse of his sailor suit with string and -“conquers” and coloured chalks, and old penknives -and young frogs.</p> - -<p>In town a woman’s only outlet, as a rule, is -the bargain counter or annual sale or remnant -day. These dissipations are denied us in the -country, but we make up for it in many other -directions. My own particular weakness is jam-jars, -and the way I pounce on any round pot, be -it glass or earthenware, that looks as though it -might be made to hold jelly or jam, is quite a -study in efficiency. And, like all expert collectors, -my collection has sub-divisions, or perhaps -you would call them ramifications; cups that -have lost their handles, jugs ditto, glasses that -once held a rolled tongue, or fish paste, are all -included; and friends, as they bring round a -portmanteau full of empty jars at Christmas or -on my birthday, say, “It is so nice in your case -that one knows what you actually want; so -much better to give anyone what they really<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> -like, and will use, rather than some useless bit of -jewellery.” And I quite agree.</p> - -<p>There was one moment when I feared my -jars would have to go in the general rending -asunder of domestic life caused by the War, -even though I had determined to stick to them -as long as I could. But when that “one clear -call” came for jam-pots, naturally I couldn’t be -a traitor to my country, and I decided the jars at -least must go, even though I might perhaps -retain the handleless cups and jugs. So I -told Abigail to let me know when the grocer -called.</p> - -<p>I interviewed the young lady wearing high -white kid boots and an amethyst pendant on her -bare chest, who brought my next large consignment -of groceries, that had to be bought in order -to secure a little sugar. But when she heard -that there were jam-jars to go back, she looked -at me coldly from the doorstep, and hurriedly -pushing her basket further up her arm (lest I -should attempt to force them into it, I presume), -the Abyssinian gold bracelets clanking the while, -haughtily informed me that her motor was for -delivery only, not for the cartage of empties, and -suggested that I should write the manager and -see if he would consent to receive them.</p> - -<p>I’m only human after all, and naturally any -woman’s temperature would rise in the face of -such spurning of her free-will offerings. I didn’t<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> -write, and I’m using the jam-jars still. The -nation doesn’t seem any the worse off—though -Virginia points out to me that the War <i>might</i> -have ended sooner had I insisted on handing -them over; she says every little helps, as is -proved by the fact that the very week she put -her first 15<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> into Exchequer Bonds the -Government got the first “tank.”</p> - -<p>At any rate, as I never eat preserves myself, I -can still, even with a restricted sugar allowance, -enjoy the peculiar pleasure that arises within a -woman’s soul when she is occasionally able to -say, quite casually as it were, to a friend: -“Would you care to have a pot of my new -gooseberry and cinnamon jam? They say it’s -rather good, though of course—etc.” And the -friend replies: “Oh, I should <i>love</i> it, dear; <i>such</i> -a treat; that jar of ginger marmalade I took -home last time was positively <i>delicious</i>. Everyone -said—etc.”</p> - -<p>One favourite item for collection among the -cottagers is old bottles, and the stock you will -see in some of their outhouses is often most -extensive and varied. On one occasion an old -man who was doing some odd days’ work for me -about the garden, in the absence of the handyman, -was deploring the way the rabbits devastated -the cabbages.</p> - -<p>“I’ll get rid on ’em for ’ee if you’ll leave -’em to me!” he assured me. I said I only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> -wished he would, as they are a real plague at -times.</p> - -<p>Imagine my horror a few days later when I -took some friends along to see the vegetables, to -discover a legion of empty whisky bottles, -labels intact, neck downwards in the soil, and -dotted about the vegetable garden in all directions. -The old man explained that they were -put there to skeer they rabbits, as they was -dreadful frit of bottles! But my friends refused -to believe that so honest-looking an old Amos -could have brought them with him!</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The inside of the wood-house is as aloof as -are the hills from our machinery-driven, smoke-begrimed, -petrol-flavoured twentieth century. -Even when work is in progress, here is no -hustle; there are no short cuts to the other side -of a larch log; the saw must go steadily, -patiently, almost slowly, if it hopes to get -through the tree at one standing.</p> - -<p>To step from the hot noonday glare, on a -summer day, into the cool seclusion of these -thick stone walls, is to enter a haven of peace -and quiet that would seem to belong to the -forest primeval rather than to this noise-stricken -age.</p> - -<p>The window opening to the north excludes -the fierce sun, but the yellow-washed walls give -light and cheeriness. And the ivy, that ubiquitous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> -plant that scorns all disadvantages, and -overcomes every obstacle, has crept in under -the red tiles and hangs in festoons from the dark -rafters; while in other places its pale green -shoots have found for themselves a way clean -through the thickness of the wall, pushing along -crevices and around the stones, till at last they -have come to light on the inner side, where they -immediately proceed to drape lopped trunks and -big branches standing in the corner.</p> - -<p>It is no mere accumulation of timber and -sticks that is housed within these rough old -walls. The very spirit of the forest seems to -permeate the place; everything is part and -parcel of the big outside—the stones that pave -the floor; the heap of cones in one corner, -waiting to brighten up smouldering winter fires -and set them all aglow; the solid sections of -some sturdy oak, cut to just the right height -for seats; the bark stripped from a birch-tree, -silver white even now, with grey and pinkish -paper-like peelings and black breathing marks; -and the great brown branches of larch, a tracery -of studded twigs and stems and cones, that have -been placed across the end of the wood-house, -and sweep the rafters at the top, looking, as you -enter the door, like some wonderful rood-screen, -dark brown with age, shutting off an ancient, -yellow-washed chancel—though such a screen -no mortal hand could ever carve!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span></p> - -<p>The larch is always in evidence, and gives a -resinous odour to the place, as does the sawdust -by the bench, a rich brown pile, for very little of -our hillside wood is white; most of it ranges -from reddish-brown to mahogany colour. -Though here is a small creamy-white gate in -course of construction—merely a little wicket -to keep the calves out of the orchard—that is -made of straight, round branches, slit down the -centre, so that one side of each is flat and the -other semicircular. The design is simplicity -itself, some uprights with a few cross-pieces to -hold them together and suggest a trellis; yet -the rich cream colour and the satiny surface of -the wood make it a thing of distinct beauty. -This is only a branch of the lime-tree, with the -bark peeled off.</p> - -<p>In an ordinary way we seldom have a chance -to notice the intrinsic beauty of wood itself. Of -course we see it in its polished perfection when -it comes to us in some choice piece of furniture, -or panelling; but this is not exactly the beauty -to which I refer. Each branch, each tree trunk, -has, in its unpolished state, definite characteristics -of its own, quite distinct from those we see -in the finished product civilization regards as the -one end to be aimed for. These characteristics -may be rough, and are frequently rugged; but -their appeal is often all the stronger for this -fact.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span></p> - -<p>Look at the wonderful ribbing on the rind of -this Spanish chestnut; what is it that wakes up -in you when you study its lines and formation? -You cannot say, yet you respond to it in an -indefinable manner. These branches of apple-wood, -only gnarled old things, twisted and -crooked and all out of shape some people would -say; yet you know that they would not have -been nearly so lovely had they been straight as -a dart. The larches with their strong bark -showing grey and red and green, and furrowed -like the sea sand—isn’t there something in this -that calls to you from back recesses of your -being, and reminds you of the time when you—no, -not you, but your ancestors, centuries ago, -lived not so much in cities and houses made -with hands, as out of doors, finding mystery in -the green-roofed aisles and the cathedral dimness -of forests long since felled?</p> - -<p>To those of us who spend much time among -these hills, each tree within the wood-house -comes as a friend, with a definite personality and -distinct association, and we regret its individual -“going out,” even though we know it to be -inevitable.</p> - -<p>This giant, that leans against the outside -wall, with no possibility of ever getting inside -the door until it has been sawn in half, is a big -fir (where a squirrel nested) that heeled right -over in a blizzard. Here is the tall cherry-tree<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> -that died of a hollow heart, so beloved of the -birds that they left us never a one if we got up -later than half-past four the morning the -cherries were ripe. This is the bough from the -big plum-tree that broke down last August -under its weight of fruit. These branches of -old apple-trees are some of the winter wreckage -that was strewn about the orchards; see the -lichen that covers them, could anything be -more satisfying to look upon? And these are -some of the birches that seemed so frail as they -bent to the wind on the slopes, with purple -twigs and green leaves always moving; until -you have actually handled them you scarcely -realize the strength and toughness of the delicate-looking -bark, and you henceforth take a much -more personal interest in Hiawatha and his -canoe, even though his tree was another member -of the family. And that convenient stump you -are sitting upon is part of a hoary pear, that -used annually to clothe itself in white—and then -contribute more gallons of perry than it does to -think of in these more sober days!</p> - -<p>But no mere catalogue of contents can -describe the charm of this little wind-swept -place. To realise it you must first of all stand -in need of quiet and retreat. When the craving -comes upon you that impels us all, at one time -or another, to get away from “things” and be -alone with ourselves and Nature that we may<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> -re-discover our souls, take a book if you will -(it matters not what, for you won’t read it, but -to some it is essential that a book be in the hand -if they are to sit still for a moment!) and climb -the hill to that wood-house.</p> - -<p>Take a seat on the beech log by the door, -and let yourself absorb some of the spirit of your -environment. Keep quite still when the squirrel -trails his bushy tail down the path, he won’t -inquire after your National Registration card; -neither will the pheasant, even though he raises -his head with a suspicious jerk as he is feeding -among the grass. Little rabbits will dart in and -out of their burrows among the bracken; the -woodpecker will mock at you from a tree that -waves above the roof; a robin will streak down -from nowhere, like a flash, and stand as erect as -a drill-sergeant on the corner of the work-bench -while he inquires—but, there is an interruption; -he excuses himself for a moment while he goes -off to thrash his wife who ventured to peep in at -the window. Let them all have their way, they -are as much a part of the general atmosphere -of the place as the sweet scent of the evening -dew upon the grass, and the ceaseless soughing -of the wind in the branches; moreover, this is -home to them.</p> - -<p>The little folk of the forests are so companionable -when you know them; even the same -butterflies will come again and again. I recently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> -spent two hours a day for a fortnight in this -spot, and all the time apparently the same -butterfly hovered about the door, resting every -few minutes on the warm rock among the stone-crop -and fiercely chasing off any other butterfly -that came within its evidently marked-out -domain. And the little folk never bore you -with their boastings, nor weary you with platitudes. -They are content to let you think your -own thoughts, to take you as you are, if you -will but recollect that theirs are ancient privileges -that have descended to them as a world-old -heritage. It is you who, helpless in the grip -of civilisation, sold your forest “hearth-rights” -long since, and are now but a stranger, or at -best a passing guest, in this out-door world that -was man’s first home.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Gradually quiet possesses you, and you hear -the trees talking of things that have far outstripped -the clash and turmoil of modernity. What is -it they say, those swaying boughs and branches -that throb with every wind, and these that stand -around you, silently, waiting their last service -to man, each with some final sacrificial offering—the -apple-wood giving in incense, the oak giving -in strength, and the laurel giving in flame?</p> - -<p>Theirs is a blessing rather than a message; -a lifting of a load from the over-burdened heart -rather than the teaching of stern lessons. And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> -as you shake off some of the dust of earth that -has clogged your soul, you find yourself sending -out thoughts in directions long forgotten; the -things of earth take on new proportions, the -first being often last, and the last becoming first.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The ministry of the forest trees can never -be entirely explained; but one remembers with -reverence that our Lord Himself worked in -some such little wood-house, where He touched -the trees and fashioned the timber with His -sacred Hands.</p> - -<p>Haply He left His Benediction when He -passed that way.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>XIII<br /> - -<small>Abigail’s “Lonely -Sailor”</small></h2> - - -<p class="unindent"><span class="smcap">I’m</span> sure I didn’t start my career of usefulness -with any intention of adopting a “lonely sailor.” -It was Abigail who bestowed him upon me.</p> - -<p>So far as I remember, it was something like -this.</p> - -<p>Abigail had joined “The Domestic Helpers’ -Branch” of a Guild, organised by some well-meaning -souls, for the purpose of befriending -those men in the Army and Navy who are -supposed to be without feminine kith or kin -of any description to take an interest in them.</p> - -<p>She had been lured to a Guild meeting by -her friend Pamela.</p> - -<p>Pamela, it should be explained, was my -parlour-maid, originally, but when the national -trumpet sounded for the reduction of one’s staff -of employees, she had moved a little further -along the road, to “The Gables,” a household -that fancied they needed a parlour-maid worse -than I did.</p> - -<p>We were mutually quite satisfied with the -transference; she had recently had a sister enter -the service of a ducal family, and I had found<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> -the effort necessary to keep pace with the -duchess exceedingly wearing. Kind hearts may -be more than coronets, but they don’t always -show to such advantage, since one has to wear -them inside.</p> - -<p>As we had parted with no recriminations on -either side, naturally I begged Pamela to make -my house “a home away from home” whenever -she pleased, which she accordingly did; and it -was on one of her many “runs in” that she had -expatiated on the Guild in question, and induced -Abigail to sample it.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>And thus, Abigail had returned from the -meeting moved to the very core of her kind -heart by the harrowing details the speaker had -related of fine, daring, courageous, and magnificent -specimens of British and Colonial manhood, -left desolate and uncared for, pining for a word -of sympathy and understanding from someone -in the home-land—a word that never came, alas!</p> - -<p>Abigail said it had quite put her off her -supper that night, thinking of all those brave -men, defending us and our homes right up to -their very last breath—and yet, never a woman -to get them a clean pair of socks or a hot meal -when all was over; not a letter of sympathy, -nor a card with a line on it (here cook told her -that funeral cards had quite gone out), not so -much as a word of encouragement from any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> -relative under the sun, every woman at home -selfishly engaged with her own concerns—— Why, -it was a disgrace to the country that our -heroes should be neglected and put upon by the -women of the land in any such way! And -please would I mind her sending off a cake as -soon as possible? as of course she had adopted a -lonely sailor, wouldn’t have it on her conscience -not to; and cook was quite willing to make it, -there was plenty of dripping, and we still had a -fair amount of carraway seeds left, and they -wouldn’t come as expensive as currants—cook’s -cousins at the Crystal Palace liked carraways -<i>quite</i> as well as currants if plenty of spice and -peel was put in. The fried potatoes had nearly -<i>choked</i> her, when she was telling cook about it -all . . . no, not because she was talking with her -mouth full; she meant that the very thought of -those poor lonely men was like eating sawdust. -The speaker at the meeting had said he was sure -each one present had only to ask her employer, -and permission would be given immediately and -gladly for a cake or potted meat or some other -little delicacy to be sent once a week, as a sign -of sympathy and understanding, to one of these -grand yet lonely souls.</p> - -<p>Of course I immediately and gladly gave -permission for the concrete sympathy to be sent -once a week, but stipulated that it was to be a -cake; five shillings’ worth of meat, as per my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> -butcher’s charges, goes positively nowhere when -“potted.” I reckoned that a good dripping -cake would give the desolate one a deal more -sympathy for the money.</p> - -<p>(At the same time, to keep our rations -properly balanced I cut off the small plate of -spice buns, our only cake luxury, which had been -in the habit of adorning our Sunday afternoon -tea-table.)</p> - -<p>And oh! the care with which we sewed up -that first box of sympathy in a remnant of cretonne, -carefully putting it on wrong side out (to -preserve its beauty), and hoping that when he -undid it he would notice what a charming pattern -of purple dahlias and blue roses was on the -inside, and how the cretonne was just a nice size -to make up into a boot bag if he chanced to be -needing a new one.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I pass over the next few weeks while we -waited anxiously for the “lonely sailor” to -materialise. He was engaged on board H.M.S. -“The North Sea,” and sailors, we know, are -subject to wind and weather. Abigail said she -almost wished now that she had selected a lonely -soldier; she could have had one if she had liked; -but she had chosen a sailor because she thought -he might wear better. The German sailors didn’t -seem so pigheadedly bent on fighting as the -German soldiers were.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span></p> - -<p>We did our best to keep the time from -hanging idly on our hands by devising as much -variety as possible for future menus, discussing -the respective merits of cinnamon <i>versus</i> cocoanut -as a flavouring, and wondering whether after all we -shouldn’t be more likely to buck up his desolate -spirits (and more particularly his pen) if we sent -a sultana cake next week, rather than gingerbread.</p> - -<p>I never before knew Abigail so prompt in -her attendance upon the postman’s knock as she -was during those blank weeks that accompanied -the first half-dozen cakes. And then, when she -was in a very slough of dark despondency, and -constantly wondering who <i>had</i> eaten them, since -they had evidently never reached <i>him</i>, a letter -arrived, and forthwith Abigail trod upon air—figuratively, -I mean, not literally; in reality I -never heard her so noisy; she went up and down, -up and down the stairs past my study door where -I was working, as though she had lost a step -and was looking for it! Finally, when I heard her -singing “Days and moments quickly flying” as -she O-cedar-mopped some neighbouring polished -boards, I knew something must have happened, -and I opened the door and asked if anything -was the matter? Whereupon she produced the -letter from the bib of her apron—would have -brought it before, only knew I liked everything -to be perfectly quiet when I was working—and -didn’t I think it was a lovely letter?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span></p> - -<p>Though the handwriting wasn’t much to -boast of, and the spelling even worse, it was a -straightforward, man-like letter; he was evidently -very pleased to have the cakes, and quite -touched that the young lady should have been -so kind as to think of him. He said his people -were too far off to send him anything like that: -his father and mother had gone out to Canada -when he was ten years old. No one had sent -him a <i>parcel</i> so far, therefore it was quite a -surprise packet when the first one came. It was -kind of her to ask if he would like some more; -all he could say was—“the more the merrier,” -if the young lady felt like it.</p> - -<p>And he signed himself, her faithful friend, -Dick.</p> - -<p>After that Dick’s name became so all-insistent -in our midst that the whole household appeared -to exist solely for the purpose of revolving round -him. So constantly was it wafted on the four -winds of heaven, that I remarked to the Head -of Affairs: it seemed for all the world as though -we had adopted a pet canary, and were everlastingly -wondering if his seed glass had been -replenished.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>There was only one slight shadow falling -athwart the sunshine. Pamela (who was a -great authority on “How to tell your character -by your handwriting,” having had her own<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> -delineated by her favourite penny weekly) had -declared that Dick was anæmic and delicate; -she knew, because his handwriting sloped downwards—a -sure sign; it was also cramped and -irregular, an unfailing indication of a mean and -grasping nature; while the heavy downstrokes -and the absence of punctuation proved as plain -as plain could be that he was unreliable.</p> - -<p>Poor Pamela had had her own disappointments -in life, and had been warped a little -thereby.</p> - -<p>Of course Abigail said she did not believe a -word of such rubbish, and she rather liked the -funny-shaped letters, and thought the black -strokes looked particularly strong and healthy.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, it was surprising how that -trifle of seed, carelessly dropped, took root in -our minds, and how from that date onwards -we all regarded Dick as anæmic and in need of -strenuous nourishment; while if more than a -month elapsed between his communications, we -couldn’t help just wondering whether, after all, -he might not be a <i>little</i> mean and grasping, and -six weeks demonstrated with absolute certainty -that he was unreliable!</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>A month after we received his first letter, -there came another, and of course we all fluttered -with excitement.</p> - -<p>Dick still approved of the cakes, I was glad<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> -to hear; and since the young lady had asked if -there was anything else she could send, he wasn’t -one to cadge for himself, but there was his mate -Mick; he wanted to put in a word for him. -Mick, it appeared, was even more lonely, more -ignored by the world of women, more in need of -sympathetic understanding than he was; and—what -was more to the point—was badly in want -of a large scarf. Not that Mick would have -asked for it himself, very independent Mick was; -but since he had so enjoyed half of every cake, -and the nights were very cold this time of the -year, and he had been his pal for years, why, he -felt sure the young lady wouldn’t mind his just -mentioning it, as he couldn’t think of telling -her how short he was of socks himself.</p> - -<p><i>Mind!</i> Why, we all regarded Dick as a -public benefactor! Abigail discovered that Dick -and Mick rhymed, and as she said, you didn’t -have poetry like that brought to the door <i>every</i> -day! She suddenly developed the airs of a -society belle; she borrowed my copy of “The -Modern Knitting Book;” and, might she just -run out for an hour in the afternoon to get some -wool—you needed thicker wool for scarves than -for socks—as the shops were so dark at night?</p> - -<p>Cook, with her numerous cousins on H.M.S. -“Crystal Palace” (a near neighbour of ours), -was given to understand that she could now -take a second place! There was no getting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> -away from the fact that Mr. Dick and Mr. Mick -were actually engaged in the defence of the -realm, while cook’s cousins appeared to do -nothing more than take joy-rides in motor-lorries -to and fro along our road.</p> - -<p>Pamela alone was sceptical; she said she -should go cautiously, you never knew! But -then, she had every reason to be a pessimist; -even her “lonely soldier” had been sent out to -China, and, naturally, you can’t sympathise so -understandingly with anyone when it takes a -couple of months before you get an answer to -your letter (if even he should chance to write by -return), as when he is only across the Straits of -Dover. She said she got tired of keeping copies -of her letters, so that she might know what he -was talking about when he wrote back—only he -never did!</p> - -<p>Surmising that Abigail would have her -hand over-full if she took on the wants of both -men, I said to her, “I think <i>I</i> had better adopt -Mr. Mick, as I am sure you will have enough -to do to provide et-ceteras for Mr. Dick! You -can take all the credit for it, and write the -letters, but I will settle the bills.”</p> - -<p>And having some socks and a large muffler -all ready for dispatch to some needy man, I -gave them to her and said I would pay the -postage, if she would save me the trouble of -doing them up and taking them to the post<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span> -office. I also added that a cake had better be -sent once a week to Mr. Mick in addition to the -one sent to Mr. Dick. I know something of -the appetite of the Navy—and what is one -simple cake between two hearty men!</p> - -<p>Abigail was effusively grateful, took it quite -as a personal favour; you might have thought I -was settling an annuity on her own father! She -explained that naturally she felt more interest in -Dick, and was more anxious to spend her money -on him; at the same time, she should certainly -mention my name to Mr. Mick; it wouldn’t be -fair to take all the credit to herself.</p> - -<p>So we left it at that.</p> - -<p>I consulted with cook on the subject of -securing ample and pleasing variety, combined -with unquestionable nourishment; and judging -by the amount of information she was able to give -me as to what “they” like, you would have thought -she had reared a whole family of husbands!</p> - -<p>Forthwith, the house was steeped in a perpetual -aroma of baking cakes (of course the -cousins couldn’t be neglected either), till I got -nervous lest the Food Controller should make it -his business to call. Upstairs we not only went -cakeless, but in order to make sugar-ends meet, -we drank unsweetened tea and coffee, a trial to -all of us! And stewed fruit requiring sugar was -also taboo.</p> - -<p>On second consideration, I am inclined to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> -think that it was not, first and foremost, my -benevolence that led me to adopt Mick: it was -primarily a matter of self-interest! Even in war -time it is necessary to have a <i>little</i> work done, if -only occasionally, in the home; and if the household -helpers were to take on yet another outside -responsibility, in addition to the many already -on their hands, I didn’t see where my work -would come in at all—and I can’t do <i>everything</i> -in the evening, after I get home from town. -As it was, we were already knitting morning, -noon, and night, for every branch of the Services!</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I put the collection of figures and capital -letters that represented Mick’s address, into my -pocket-book with other similar data. Periodically -I handed Abigail pairs of socks or mittens, a -body-belt, handkerchiefs, and similar utilities; -and when any sea-going event, such as a raid on -a submarine base, or a “scrap” in the North -Sea, or a warship mined, brought the Navy -specially to my mind, I would go into the Stores -and order a parcel to be sent to Mick, adding -one for Dick also, if the occasion happened to -be a harrowing one. At such times one feels -one cannot do enough for our men; and Dick -and Mick little knew how often they benefited -by the misfortunes of others.</p> - -<p>The first time I received a letter from my -devoted friend Michael McBlaggan, I admit I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> -was a trifle bewildered, as I couldn’t for the -moment “place” any member of the McBlaggan -family; but when I read the document through -and noted how kind he considered it that my -friend Miss Abigail should have introduced us, -light dawned, and I sent him a post-card saying -I hoped he would always let me know if he -wanted anything further in the way of woollens.</p> - -<p>And thus the months wore on, punctuated -by laboriously written communications from -Dick, with an occasional card from Mick, who -kept more in the background. The great attraction, -undoubtedly, was Dick. He entered into -personal details, asked if the young lady had -made the cakes herself. Here I understand cook -was not too absorbed in her own relations to -insist that full credit should be given to the right -person; and Abigail wrote explaining that as -she was very much occupied, and too busy to -attend to the cooking, a friend who lived with -her always made the cakes. Whereupon by -return post <i>I</i> received a sloping, heavy-downstroked -letter of thanks from the dutiful Dick!</p> - -<p>On another occasion, Dick sent his photo -(after being asked for it times out of number, I -believe). It was not as satisfactory as it might -have been, because it was an amateur snapshot -group, and you know how easy it is to decipher -the features when the hand camera has stood a -quarter of a mile away (so as to include as much<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> -of the landscape as possible), and everyone’s -face is in black shadow under a hat brim that -has been tilted forward to exclude the full glare -of the sun.</p> - -<p>Unfortunately he omitted to put a <b>X</b> against -himself, and as there were a dozen men in the -group all in slouch hats and farm attire (to say -nothing of the women and children), there was -little to help us!</p> - -<p>But he did say that, as Abigail had told him -Canada was the one place above all others that -she longed to see, and how she was hoping to -go there as soon as the war was over, he had -sent his picture taken on a Canadian farm. It -was just a little gathering photographed on -someone’s birthday.</p> - -<p>Still, as he hadn’t given us any help in the -matter, we had to decide ourselves which was -the lonely sailor (though, as Abigail commented, -she couldn’t understand how, with such a large -collection of friends, he could ever have come -to be so alone in the world). We picked out -a thin, anæmic-looking young man, who was -standing beside a comfortable, matronly woman -in a shady hat and a big apron; and as her age -might have been anything from thirty to sixty, -we decided she was his mother, and I remarked -what a nice homely soul she looked in her -checked apron, and no wonder he was devoted -to her, and how proud she must be of the dear<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> -lad—all of which Abigail accepted as a personal -compliment.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Winter gave way to spring, and in like -rotation mince pies were superseded by Swiss -roll (to make which eggs were struck off our -breakfast menu), and marmalade replaced the figs -and dates in the parcels that went out to some -unknown spot on the world’s ocean-spaces, all of -which our wonderful Navy now controls.</p> - -<p>Likewise, cretonne gave place to unbleached -calico, my remnants being exhausted.</p> - -<p>Existence downstairs fluctuated between -heights of excitement and depths of gloom. The -Crystal Palace authorities had a most unreasonable -way of shipping men off to Mesopotamia, -Salonika, Hongkong, Archangel, or anywhere -else where they thought the air would prove -salubrious, without a single word of inquiry as to -whether the transfer met with cook’s approval. -Hence, there was a series of constantly recurring -blanks to mar what would otherwise have been -a life of unsullied joyousness; and at such times -of depression cook darkly hinted that punching -tram tickets and ordering people to “move up a -little on that side, please,” would be a deliriously -exhilarating occupation compared with the -monotony of cake-making for nobody-knows-who!</p> - -<p>As every gift-giver is aware, there is invariably<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> -a grey hiatus between the sending off of -the gift and the arrival of the recipient’s gratitude; -hence, the bustle and excitement of getting -off each parcel of eatables and pair of socks and -tin of tobacco was always followed by a spell -of wistful longing, while the postal authorities, -out of sheer perversity (we presumed), held back -the letter that would have meant so much to -Abigail.</p> - -<p>Moreover, Pamela was doing anything but -contribute to the gaiety of nations! She was -often in with Abigail on her spare evenings; -and seemed to devote the time to perpetual -croaks, on one occasion ending with the assurance -that, for <i>her</i> part, she should have nothing -to do with a man who was merely a common -sailor; self-respect, if nothing else, would make -her look for something better than that.</p> - -<p>I am glad to say Abigail had sufficient spirit -left to retort that if he was good enough to -fight for her, he was good enough for the -bestowal of a cake. Nevertheless, a decided coolness -sprang up between them; and for a week -or two after this exchange of confidences, -Abigail appeared to be sinking in a rapid -“decline” (as they used to call it), and I felt -I was positively inhuman to expect her to do a -hand’s turn in the house.</p> - -<p>Yet life was not entirely bereft of purple -patches. The gloom consequent upon the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> -Silence of the Navy lifted occasionally. As, for -instance, when we had a bomb drop in our road. -Yes, in our very road!—or, at any rate, it was -only just round the corner; and, as everybody -knows, one affectionately appropriates as one’s -own all neighbouring roads (quite irrespective of -the rentals, too) if they chance to possess a -bomb. And, in any case, it <i>would</i> have dropped -in our road if only it had been a hundred yards -nearer this way.</p> - -<p>Ours was quite an up-to-date bomb, one of -the sort that “went clean through the wood -pavement to the depth of a couple of feet, and -made a hole large enough to bury a man in, and -not a sound window within a mile radius.” -That’s the kind of bomb <i>ours</i> was! And it was -trimmed in the latest fashion, with a policeman, -and a cord right round it, and two gentlemen -with pickaxes who scratched the surface of the -wood blocks occasionally in the intervals of -looking important. They were wearing them -like that in London at the time.</p> - -<p>Of course we, in common with the whole -parish, swelled with pride; for a while all social -distinction was waived, rich and poor alike took -the same interest in the bomb, or at least in the -hole it had made; the bomb itself was removed -so quickly that no local eye save that of the -police and the pickaxe gentlemen ever saw it; -though the milkman averred that, as he was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> -driving to the station in the early dawn, he saw -a van going in the opposite direction; he -couldn’t see what was in it, hence it certainly -was carrying away the bomb.</p> - -<p>For the rest of us, however, we had to be -content with a brave effort to get as near to the -cord as we could, and crane our heads above our -shorter brethren in order to catch a glimpse of -the gaping void, while a thrill went down every -spine, irrespective of bank balances.</p> - -<p>And we might have remained in that splendidly -democratic frame of back unto this day -(no one being anxious to have any closer acquaintance -than his neighbour with the bomb), -had it not been that a piece of shrapnel was -discovered in the garden next us. Whereupon -the owner developed much upliftedness, and his -servants bragged amain.</p> - -<p>My own staff took it even more to heart -than I did; and it was amazing how much time -it was necessary for all hands to spend in the -garden in order to cut a cabbage or gather three -sprigs of parsley. Between them they didn’t -leave an inch of the garden unexplored, and it is -a fair-sized one.</p> - -<p>Then the following morning Abigail rushed -in excitedly with the news that she had discovered -a piece of shrapnel in the bonfire débris. -I went down to inspect, and was shown an -oblong piece of curved iron, wider at one end<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> -than the other, and with a sharp spike at the -wider end. I confess that to me it was wonderfully -reminiscent of the old trowel that had lost -its wooden handle and had lain unhonoured and -unsung for a year in the leaf-heap; but I said -nothing about <i>that</i>. Whatever its origin, it was -crumpled up a bit with heat, one could see—not -surprising either, as we had had a roaring -bonfire two days running and burnt up all the -pile of dead leaves.</p> - -<p>When I was devising plans for its removal, -they said, Hadn’t it better wait there till the -master came home?</p> - -<p>But the Head of Affairs is celebrated for his -truthfulness; and he and that old trowel had -lived on terms of unalloyed friendship for years -(till the split came over the handle), and—well, -I merely said I thought we would deal with it -at once; no need to add to the master’s many -worries.</p> - -<p>Cook said: Oughtn’t it to be immersed in -a pail of water? Her cousin at the Crystal -Palace had told her that——, etc.</p> - -<p>So we got a pail of water; I bade them -stand well out of harm’s way, while I put it in. -Of course they feebly offered to do it for me, -but seemed relieved when I insisted on taking -all risks; one ran to one side of the garden and -one to the other, and then decided they should -feel safer if they both stood close together.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span></p> - -<p>Just as I was about to pick it up, cook -shrieked out to me not to touch it with my -hands, as it might be poisoned. I said I would -take it up with a pair of tongs; but she said she -thought it ought to be insulated with china. It -might be electrified with the shock; you never -knew what inventions those fiends were up to, -and one of her cousins who was in the electricians’ -corp (or something like that) had told her -that——, etc.</p> - -<p>So we compromised with a large china soup -ladle and a big wooden spoon, which I used like -chop sticks, and at last got the shrapnel into the -water. Of course it was disappointing when it -dropped heavily to the bottom without so much -as a sizzle, much less a bang. Still—we had the -comfortable feeling that we were on the safe -side now.</p> - -<p>Eventually I had it in my study. I said it -would be safer there. But though the neighbourhood -was thus debarred from seeing and -handling it, the fame of it spread with amazing -rapidity; and the lady across the road arrived -quite early in the afternoon, having heard from -her housemaid, who had heard it from her -gardener, who had heard it from the road-sweeper, -who had heard it from the grocer’s -man, who had heard it from my cook, that I -had a huge shell weighing half-a-hundredweight, -covered with venomous spikes, all deadly poison,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> -that had dropped down the chimney right into -the centre of the kitchen fire, where it had been -found, still hissing, when they went to rake out -the ashes in the morning.</p> - -<p>I didn’t display the fragment to my neighbour, -nor to subsequent callers; it is such a pity -to rob people of happiness. I merely said I -thought it better to keep it well away from all -vibration, as so far it hadn’t exploded. And -one and all assured me I was very wise, and -remembered pressing engagements elsewhere.</p> - -<p>I reached the zenith of my fame when a -police inspector, accompanied by a subordinate, -rang the front door bell, and understood that I -had in my possession a portion of a Zeppelin -that had foundered on my lawn. It appeared -that he had been up all night, and had worn -out miles of shoe leather, hunting for the missing -half of that Zeppelin; and had I the gondola as -well? He seemed to suspect that I might be -holding that back in order to have it stuffed and -put under a glass shade in the drawing-room.</p> - -<p>He looked disappointed when I showed him -the fragment of iron; said they had plenty of -bits that size; but he admitted that none of -them had a spike like that at one end, and -darkly hinted that it might be just the missing -link they were looking for. Then he and the -subordinate tenderly carried it away between -them.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span></p> - -<p>We all intend to visit the War Museum -later on. Personally, I’m very keen to see what -they ticket it.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Nevertheless, when each little excitement -subsided, reaction set in, and Abigail’s spirits -promptly dropped to zero. But at length a -post card arrived in time to save her (and us) -from utter collapse, and the bath-taps were -once more polished to the tune of “Days and -moments quickly flying.”</p> - -<p>Thus, as I have already stated, winter -merged into spring; and then spring made way -for early summer (as I’ve known it do before), -and we racked our brains to find a suitable -substitute for pork pie.</p> - -<p>Oh, yes, we had departed months ago from -the “nothing but cake” rule. We decided that -a thin, anæmic-looking young man (as per the -photographic group) needed still more feeding -up, and there wasn’t a sufficiency of body-building -material in modern cake, as everyone -knows who has sampled war-flour, even with -currants <i>as well</i> as carraways. So the Head of -Affairs and I stoically relinquished the one thin -slice of breakfast bacon that we had shared -between us each morning, and devoted the proceeds -to pork pies for the Navy—in accordance -with the highest ideals of the Food Controller.</p> - -<p>But, as every good housewife knows, you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> -mustn’t feed your family—let alone your friends—on -pork pie when there isn’t an R in the -month; and with April nearing its end, and -May looming, what was to take its place? As -cook said, you are so dreadfully handicapped -when you have to sew up your parcel in calico; -you can’t send soused mackerel, or Welsh rabbit -with Red Tape tied round you like that!</p> - -<p>Abigail suggested potted shrimps; but cook -scornfully reminded her that seafaring men, -living in the midst of shrimps and salt fish all -their days, weren’t likely to hanker after it -at meal times. We compromised on savoury -cheese patties—a come-down after the pork pie, -we admitted; only we could think of nothing -else equally nutritive and seasonable.</p> - -<p>Unfortunately, when I ordered extra cheese -to be sent weekly to meet the naval demands -(and up to that time I hadn’t seen any rules -for rationing cheese), the Stores “greatly regretted,” -etc., but there was a scarcity at the -moment; they could let me have a tin of -golden syrup, however, or, they had a fair stock -of candles.</p> - -<p>So we removed cheese from our upstairs -dietary, consoling ourselves with the thought -that, at best, it was only half a course.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile it was pleasant to know that the -fleet had voted the cheese patties “A 1,” due, so -cook said, to the fact that she had told Dick to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> -put the patties into a <i>slow</i> oven for ten or twelve -minutes before eating, as “it made all the -difference.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I was beginning to get nervy with the strain -of it all. You see, if a letter delayed in coming, -then the question arose: Did they like the last -parcel? or, had we sent, by chance, something -they didn’t care for? And then my household -assistants looked darkly at me; <i>I</i> was to blame -for ever having suggested lemon curd tartlets. -As Abigail said, probably lemon didn’t agree -with Dick, it didn’t always with thin people.</p> - -<p>Cook acquiesced, adding that you never can -tell! There was her eldest sister’s husband, a -perfect terror for temper; yet look what he -saved her in doctor’s bills—he might have had -epileptic fits instead!</p> - -<p>On the other hand, there was her uncle (no -relation to her really, only her aunt’s husband, -and second husband at that), do what you would, -you couldn’t rouse him to take an interest in his -food or anything else. Her poor aunt had spent -a little fortune on medicine; and as bright a -house as you could want, not shut off with a -whole lot of garden like my house, but nice and -close on to the pavement, with heaps of traffic -going by. And exactly opposite, the broken -railings that the motor-van ran into and killed -the driver; heaps of people came to look at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> -place Sunday afternoons. But her uncle never -took a bit of notice of it.</p> - -<p>No, you <i>never</i> can tell!</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>All the same, I felt guilty, and began to -wonder how long I should be able to hold out! -And then——</p> - -<p>It was a lovely Saturday in May. We had -just got up from a late lunch when there came a -violent ring at the door bell. The Head of -Affairs was in the hall at the moment, and he -opened the door—to find two big sailor-men on -the doorstep, each carrying a parcel. They -inquired for me.</p> - -<p>Now, like most other households, khaki and -navy blue always find a welcome at our door for -the sake of our own who are away, serving their -country, and those who have already laid down -their lives in the cause of Right and Justice.</p> - -<p>So the Head of Affairs walked them straight -in upon me, without waiting to ask for their -birth certificates.</p> - -<p>Did I say they were big? That isn’t the -word for it! They were more than that, they -were massive; tall, broad, well-made, and tough-looking, -with beaming, round, red faces; they -ought to have been pictured, just as they were, -for a naval recruiting poster.</p> - -<p>They looked a little confused, for the moment, -at finding themselves precipitated into an unexpected<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> -drawing room; but they made straight -for me, with that large, rolling stride inseparable -from the British sailor. Fortunately the room -isn’t beset in the orthodox fashion with a multitude -of bric-à-brac obstacles in the way of small -chairs and tables, for they seemed to sweep the -decks fore and aft as they strode over the carpet, -and I thought I should never find my hand -again after they had both given it a hearty shake.</p> - -<p>As I looked at the big, burly fellows, both -of them well on to forty I should say, I knew -instinctively that these were our two forlorn -sailor-lads—our poor anæmic, lonely Dick, and -desolate, unsympathised-with Mick. And I -must say I never saw two men bear neglect -more bravely!</p> - -<p>At first, conversation seemed all on my side: -they sat stiffly on the extreme edge of their -chairs, while Dick answered in monosyllables, -Mick seeming permanently tongue-tied! But -the Head of Affairs produced cigars warranted -to banish all nervous embarrassment and to -induce a man to sit comfortably anywhere; and -soon they were giving us details of their homes -and relatives—small things, perhaps, that are -apparently the same the world over, but mean -so much to each individual. It was still Dick -who did most of the talking. He was -undoubtedly the more attractive of the two.</p> - -<p>As they were constantly making wild<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span> -clutches at their parcels which threatened to -tumble off their knees without the slightest -provocation, we offered to put them on the -table. But Dick explained, with almost child-like -confusion, that they were presents for -me and the other lady. And would I mind -taking them? He made Mick open his bundle -first. There came to light an anchor, the -like of which I had never seen before, though -I had heard of their existence. It was about -eighteen inches long, made of red velvet stuffed -with sawdust so as to form an immense pin -cushion. This was most elaborately decorated -with beads—as I thought at first—but it proved -to be pins with coloured glass heads. Lengthwise -down the anchor was this inscription, -carried out in large white-headed pins,</p> - -<p class="center"> -<small>“AFFECTION’S OFFERING.”</small><br /> -</p> - -<p>There were various ribbon bows, and ends and -tags finished off with beads, and a cord for -hanging it on the wall; altogether, it was a most -ornate, glittering creation!</p> - -<p>Keeping company with the anchor was a -wooden rolling pin, that had been enamelled -a delicate pink, with hand-painted sprays of -forget-me-nots at intervals. This also had bows -and ends and a ribbon to hang it on the wall; it -likewise bore an inscription:</p> - -<p class="center"> -<small>“TO GREET YOU.”</small><br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span></p> - -<p>While I praised the colouring, and the workmanship -of both, I promptly chose the rolling pin.</p> - -<p>Mick looked a trifle disappointed, and -explained that he had really intended the -anchor for me; and thought the rolling pin -would be nice for the lady who had sent the -cakes.</p> - -<p>But I clung to the rolling pin; even though -it wasn’t quite in line with my ideas of decorative -art, its sentiment was so non-committal! -Besides, I wanted Abigail to have the anchor. -Even though it be but a passing incident, it -is pleasant to receive an “affection’s offering” -occasionally, when we are young.</p> - -<p>Dick’s parcel contained a large box covered -with shells, and very pretty it was. In a smaller -packet he had a coral necklace. I chose—and -praised—the box with a perfectly clear conscience -this time. You have to go to a great deal of -trouble before you can vulgarise a sea-shell; and, -fortunately, the box-maker hadn’t taken any -trouble at all; he had merely stuck them -haphazard over the cardboard lid, with a border -of small ones round the edges, and the effect -was lovely. I also knew that Abigail would -much prefer the necklace. You can’t carry a -big box about with you, to display it casually to -your friends.</p> - -<p>My genuine pleasure over the presents thawed -them to such an extent, that Dick then explained<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span> -they had come round with the intention of taking -us out to a picture palace; Mick wanted to take -me, and he, Dick, would take Miss Abigail. -But, he added hesitatingly, that perhaps, after -all, that wasn’t the sort of thing I would care -about; and he looked rather beseechingly at the -Head of Affairs, hoping we should understand -what he couldn’t manage to put very clearly -into words.</p> - -<p>We did understand. Gratitude is none too -plentiful in these days that we could afford to -flout it because it chanced to appear in unconventional -guise. We appreciated all that they -had planned to do by way of saying thank you -for what we had done for them—and it was little -enough we had done, when one considers our -debt to such men as these!</p> - -<p>I explained that though <i>I</i> was engaged that -evening, Abigail was not; and they must now -show her those parcels.</p> - -<p>She had no knowledge that they were in the -house; and you should have seen her face when -she answered the bell and I introduced Mr. Dick -and Mr. Mick.</p> - -<p>In reply to my inquiries as to what she could -do in the way of hospitality, she was certain -that cook could get a really nice meal ready -for them in a few minutes; and if even cook -couldn’t she, Abigail, could, and Pamela had -just come in, and she would help; it wasn’t the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span> -slightest trouble—and she looked positively -radiant as she took the two in tow.</p> - -<p>Having told them that we would wait on -ourselves for the rest of the day, and no one -need stay in, I was not surprised to hear a gay -party setting off a little later on; but I <i>was</i> -surprised to see that it was Pamela, and not -cook, who made the fourth in the quartette!</p> - -<p>Pamela and Abigail hadn’t spoken since the -episode previously mentioned. It was curious -that she should have chanced to call for the -purpose of burying the hatchet, the very -afternoon that the “common sailors,” as she had -called them, should be there!</p> - -<p>For the time of the sailors’ leave I cut the -housework down to the minimum and arranged -a week of cold dinners, Spartan-like in their -simplicity, for ourselves, so that “evenings out” -could be taken as often as my household assistants -pleased.</p> - -<p>I hoped to find the kitchen radiating sunshine -in consequence. Picture my consternation, -therefore, when I came upon Abigail weeping -her eyes out in their sitting-room one afternoon -(when only half of the leave had expired too!), -the coral necklace flung into one corner, and -“affection’s offering” lying face downwards -under the table.</p> - -<p>To give her opportunity to pull herself -together, I picked up the coral necklace and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> -inquired what Mr. Dick would be likely to -think if he saw it there. She sobbed that she -didn’t know and she didn’t care.</p> - -<p>“That Pamela——” Then I saw it all in a -flash!</p> - -<p>Well, to make a long story short, Pamela, -whom I had long known to be as unscrupulous -as she was good-looking, had stepped in and -carried off Dick right from under Abigail’s nose! -She had seen the two men arrive on the previous -Saturday afternoon, and that accounted for her -unexpected call. She had appropriated Dick -from the first minute she saw him.</p> - -<p>“And now,” said Abigail into her handkerchief, -“just ten minutes ago, when I ran out to -post some letters, who should I see coming out -of The Gables, but Dick and that creature, -starting off together for all the world as though -they had known each other all their lives. Only -last night she had the sauce to say <i>she</i> was going -out to Canada when the war was over!”</p> - -<p>I felt truly sorry for the girl, and it was some -satisfaction to me to reflect that Pamela wasn’t -quite as successful as she imagined!</p> - -<p>“I don’t think she will see much of Dick -even if she does go out to Canada,” I said; “I -don’t think his wife would have a room to spare -to invite her there—with seven children. I daresay -Dick told you that the lady in the checked -apron was Mrs. Dick?” I stooped to pick up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> -the forlorn anchor, and dusted it most carefully, -to give her time to recover.</p> - -<p>“No!” she gasped, and then went on bitterly, -“he hasn’t had a chance to tell me a <i>thing</i>, with -Pamela talking to him the whole time! But, of -course, I guessed all along he was married.” She -meant to take her disappointment bravely. “<i>I</i> -don’t want to marry anyone; men are all alike. -But it does make you wild, when——”</p> - -<p>I was facing the window, but Abigail had -her back to it. Therefore she did not see what -I saw coming along the road—a large bunch of -flowers, surmounted by Mick’s round, jovial face.</p> - -<p>“I think I should hang this up,” I interrupted -her, having thoroughly dusted the anchor; “after -all, Mick has no wall of his own to hang it on; -he isn’t like Dick, with a home and wife and -family—and one doesn’t get ‘affection’s offering’ -every day!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, but that wasn’t really meant for me,” -and Abigail’s grief threatened to break out afresh. -“Mick was so taken with the lovely parcels you -sent, and he thought as you lived with me you -were a widow, and——”</p> - -<p>Fortunately, I was spared the rest, for the -downstairs door bell rang with a vehemence that -was now most familiar, and Abigail, patting her -hair and her cap into shape, went smilingly -down the passage to answer the side door.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>XIV<br /> - -<small>The Bonfire</small></h2> - - -<p class="unindent"><span class="smcap">I had</span> pointed out, quite nicely and kindly, to -Virginia, that she was not clipping the top of the -square box-tree table straight and even; and she -had pointed out, quite witheringly, to me that -she was cutting it by perspective, adding that if -I had only been privileged to learn perspective -when I was young, I should have known that -for a thing to be correct in its outlines and -proportions it must necessarily run askew and -aslant and out-at-corners, just as the top of the -box-tree table was now doing. She assured me, -however, that it would appear all right, she -thought, if I looked at it from an airship above, -with half-closed eyes.</p> - -<p>And then she advised me to do a little -hoeing.</p> - -<p>I ignored her sarcasm, knowing full well that -a pair of shears, applied by amateur hands to -tough overgrown greenstuff, is apt to provoke -cutting remarks when the wielder has got to the -moist stage and the hedge is looking like a -ploughed field.</p> - -<p>You see, there was an inwardness in her last -remark; for hoeing looks an easy, graceful, carefree -occupation—till you try it. My own<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span> -method is distinctive; I didn’t invent it, it came -to me as a natural inspiration. I find I invariably -start to hoe with my back, doubling up -more and more, and aching more and more, as I -proceed with the hacking. Then, as I warm to -the work (and it’s very much warm as a rule), I -likewise hoe with my teeth. By the time I have -set and ground these nearly to nothing—my -hands all the while getting lower and lower down -the handle of my tool—I find myself beginning -to hoe quite viciously with my head.</p> - -<p>When I have extracted all the motive power -I can from this part of me, and have projected it -so far in front of the rest of me—hoe included—that -I almost lose my balance, the only thing -left for me to do, by way of piling up yet more -energy and effort, appears to be to go down -on all fours, seeing that by this time I am -clasping the hoe handle at about a foot from the -ground.</p> - -<p>Fortunately, it is just here that I usually -realize what I am doing, and I straighten my -rounded back, and undo my teeth (that doesn’t -sound polite, but you know what I mean), and -return my head to its proper place. I then -remind myself that I am not hoeing at all -scientifically, that most of the energy I have -been putting forth has been waste—because misdirected—force.</p> - -<p>Whereupon I stand at ease, and other things<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span> -like that. Maintaining the upright as far as I -can, I take hold of the top end of the long -handle of my weapon, and, still keeping quite in -the perpendicular, I merely hoe with my arms, -thus saving the rest of me quite a considerable -number of unclassified aches. So long as I can -remember to keep my vertebræ like this, all is -well, and I really get through a fair amount of -work. But, alas, I soon forget.</p> - -<p>One thing I have never yet managed to do is -to keep cool and collected, my misfortune being -that I boil up so soon. My hat gets out of -angle, my hair flattens out where it ought to be -wavy, and waves around where it ought to lie -flat; and—worst of all—it ceases to worry me -that these things are so.</p> - -<p>And then I open a periodical wherein some -unknown celebrity has been photographed “at -home”; and she is sure to be shown “in the -garden,” where, behold! you see her in the airiest -of fashionable nothings in the way of a white -frock, accompanied by a ten-guinea hat, a twenty-guinea -dog, and a sixpence-halfpenny trowel—all -worn with consummate photographic grace, -as she artlessly sets to work to transplant a hoary -wistaria that has smothered the (photographer’s) -verandah for fifty years, explaining to the interviewer, -meanwhile, how she simply adores -gardening, how she gets all her ideas for the -dresses she wears in the third act from her pet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> -bed of marigolds, and how she never dreams of -taking part in a first night performance without -having previously run the lawn-mower twice -round the gravel paths.</p> - -<p>Clever creature; you don’t wonder she is -labelled a celebrity; any woman who can keep -that hat on while using that trowel, has accomplished -something!</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I didn’t feel like hoeing just then, no matter -what the cost of my gardening outfit. The -moment seemed to call for non-strenuous occupation -that would admit of leisurely movement -and unlimited pauses with nothing doing—which -is what I find a mind like mine requires.</p> - -<p>Of course there was plenty of hoeing waiting -to be done, there always is; I never knew a soil -so chock-full of weed-seeds as ours seems to be, -and I never knew a place where folks are so little -worried by them. Where things grow as easily as -they do about our hills and valleys (and where the -angle of the garden is just what ours is), you will -find that the native reduces land-labour to the -minimum, and nothing is disturbed unless absolutely -necessary. Reasonably, if you have left -the hoe at the top of the garden, and the top is -a hundred feet above the bottom of the garden -where you are standing, you think twice before -you climb up and fetch it.</p> - -<p>As one result of this universal conservation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> -of energy, our local nettle crop is one of the -finest in the kingdom, I verily believe.</p> - -<p>“Why are those things left standing in every -field corner?” I asked a farmer on one occasion, -pointing to the usual grey-green waving jungle -of weeds.</p> - -<p>“They nettles?” he questioned, in surprise; -“well, what’s the good of wasting attention on -’em? They don’t hurt no one!”</p> - -<p>Incidentally I may say it is always well to -criticize the methods employed on other people’s -land rather than those practised on your own, -since most right-minded employés resent any -implication, no matter how politely you wrap it -up, that improvement is possible; and if you -question the why and wherefore of anything, it -may be mistaken for fault-finding in this imaginative -age. Hence, unless the handy man chances -to be one of exceptional make up, I go farther -afield when gleaning information.</p> - -<p>One day I watched a man very leisurely inspecting -a thistle in a meadow by the weir, and -then, with a deliberation that was most restful to a -harried, hustled, war-time Londoner, he tenderly -and carefully cut it off near the ground with a -scythe. After he had decapitated about twenty -thistles in this way, he naturally needed a little -time for recuperation, and sat down on the river -bank to meditate. I hadn’t liked to interrupt -him when he was working, because so far as I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span> -could roughly estimate, there were thirteen -thousand four hundred and fifty-three thistles in -the meadow—approximately, you understand—and -we don’t work according to trade union -hours here; sometimes we start an hour later -and leave off an hour earlier, and miss out -several in between. But since he had evidently -reached his rest-hour—and remembering that -one of my own fields was plentifully dotted with -thistles at the moment, and feeling quite equal -myself to that gentle picturesque swish of the -scythe—I asked him whether that process killed -the thistle right out? (My business instinct forbade -my wasting time on the job if it would all -have to be done over again later on.)</p> - -<p>No, he said, he didn’t think as how it -would kill the thistles right out.</p> - -<p>Then why did he do it that way? I asked, -instead of spudding the thing right up by the -root?</p> - -<p>“Well”—and he scratched his head thoughtfully—“doing -it like this jest diskerridges of ’em -a bit, and isn’t sech a deluge o’ trouble as mooting -’em right out would be.” And with that he -promptly dropped thistles, and proceeded to -discuss the fiendishness of the Germans.</p> - -<p>He had a long talk (there wasn’t room for -me to say anything), and gave recipes for annihilating -completely everything connected with -them (excepting thistles; I presume they have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> -some; they deserve a good crop, anyhow), -finishing up with—</p> - -<p>“But thur—what I says about ’em I won’t -exackly repeat in yer presence, m’m; for my -wife often says to me, ‘It won’t do nobody no -pertickler good,’ she says, ‘if you gets yerself shut -out o’ Heaven by yer langidge,’ she says, ‘just -to spite they Huns, what don’t even <i>hear</i> it!’”</p> - -<p>For a full two minutes he worked that -scythe with real zest, as though onslaughting the -enemy.</p> - -<p>Perhaps his method is right (in regard to -thistles, I mean), perhaps it is wrong; I’ve -never gone sufficiently deep into the subject -to be competent to pass an opinion. But I do -know that the larger proportion of handy men -who have honoured me with their patronage -(though there are conspicuous exceptions) invariably -weed on these lines of least resistance, -and “jest diskerridge ’em”—though I own it -takes a lot to discourage <i>our</i> weeds!</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Not feeling like diskerridging weeds at the -moment, I asked Ursula to suggest some occupation -for my idle hands, though I didn’t put -it like that; I inquired which of the many jobs -needing urgent attention I had better tackle -next. (It came to the same thing in the end; -but instead of advertising my natural indolence, -I hoped it would convey an impression that I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span> -was rushing pell-mell through an endless succession -of tasks.)</p> - -<p>Ursula was sitting on a pile of logs under a -big fir tree inside the orchard gate—oh yes, -there are firs in the orchard, and lilacs, and -daffodils, and snowdrops, and a huge Wellingtonia, -and a trickle of water with forget-me-nots -and mint on its brink; we’re not at all particular -about classification. She was darning a stocking, -and it seemed a lengthy job. Not that there -was any large, vulgar gash in the stocking; it -was merely suffering from general war-time -debility, and was one of those that you can go -on and on darning, and still find more thin places -to run up and down.</p> - -<p>Have you ever noticed what a snare a -stocking of this description can be? You can -sit at it for an hour or so, until it seems easier -to go on darning it than to bestir yourself to do -anything else. In the end, you haven’t accomplished -much, considering the time you’ve been -about it, but you have acquired a large dose of -the virtuous and exemplary feeling that is always -the outcome of stocking-darning.</p> - -<p>Ursula had got like that, though I wouldn’t -have you think I under-estimated her efforts, for -it was my apparel she was darning.</p> - -<p>“I often think that a garden embodies all the -philosophy of life,” she replied to my query, in -a detached way, as she closely inspected the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span> -stocking foot drawn over her hand, in order to -pounce upon any further signs of impending -dissolution.</p> - -<p>“I seem to fancy I’ve heard that——”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’ve no doubt someone has said it -before me. I’ve noticed over and over again -that people plagiarize my really cleverest remarks -before I’ve actually had time to say them -myself; and I think something ought to be -done to prevent the infringement of copyright -in this barefaced way. But all the same, whether -anyone has, or has not, already helped themselves -to this unique creation of my brain, the fact -remains that I thought it out for myself, alone -and unaided. And the more I meditate upon -it, the more I notice what heaps of things in the -garden resemble life.”</p> - -<p>“As for example——?”</p> - -<p>“Well, slugs, for instance, and the bindweed, -and the rabbits, and the broad beans. They all -seem to typify that here we have no abiding -anything.”</p> - -<p>I agreed mournfully, as I thought of the -succulent, hopeful-looking scarlet runners that -the slugs had eaten right through the tender -main stems close to the ground. It was a sad -awakening for us the day we found a few score -of limp and dying remains, where over-night we -had watered as promising a row of youngsters -as one could have wished to see. To our grieving<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> -spirits, it seemed as though it wouldn’t have -been nearly so bad if they had eaten the leaves -and left us the stems, at least more leaves might -have grown, whereas now——!</p> - -<p>And the bindweed—where could you find a -more striking analogy to original sin? Flaunting -beautiful flowers (which I greatly love), yet all -the while spreading wicked roots out of sight, -choking everything it lays hold of, turning up in -the most unlooked-for places—but there is no -need to write more under this heading; a healthy -crop of bindweed (and I never knew one that -wasn’t most irritatingly healthy) could give points -to a preacher every Sunday in the year, and then -have enough to spare for the week-night services. -And when he had done with bindweed, he could -start afresh on mint.</p> - -<p>Rabbits, again, are dear things, with an -appeal that is quite different from that of any -other of the wild things. Sometimes in the -past, when I have been doomed to sit for an -hour or so in the airlessness and weariness of -crowded hall or place of entertainment, or in -the loneliness of a congested social function, -where everybody is too buzzingly busy with -“being social” to have time to say a word to -anyone, I just switch my mind right off the -glare and the heat and the stuffiness and the -superficiality and the heartlessness, and take a -look at the little orchard adjoining the cottage<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> -garden, and for just a minute I watch the -rabbits, nibbling the grass, sitting up on their -hind legs to get a better view of any possible -enemy-approach, and scampering back to cover -in the coppice with a bobbing of white tails, at -the least suspicion of danger. To a woman -there is something very touching about the -timidity of these little brown things. I always -wish I could make them understand that I am -their friend and not their enemy—but this is a -difficult matter, because there is the small white -dog to be considered in the compact, and there -is no sentimentality about him where rabbits are -concerned!</p> - -<p>I wouldn’t be without these little furry -families in the coppice, but oh, I do wish they -would leave the young cabbages alone, or at any -rate spare the tenderest of the green leaves! It -is a bit damping even to ardour like ours to be -greeted, when we arrive from town, by a gardener -waving a deprecating hand over rows of hardy -cabbage stumps bereft of leaves. At such times -it seems as though it wouldn’t have been nearly -so bad if they had eaten the stems and left us -the leaves, at least we could have cooked them, -whereas now——!</p> - -<p>Rabbits certainly emphasize the fact that -life grows thistles as well as figs.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>With regard to the beans, it is difficult to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span> -be philosophical. I can be to some extent -resigned when my misfortunes are handed out -to me by Nature, but it is a different thing -when they are manufactured for me (at my -expense, too) by my fellow-creatures.</p> - -<p>On the whole, I cannot speak too highly of -the men who have worked for me about the -Flower-patch; I have been exceedingly well -served, but now and again one comes upon misfortune, -and on one occasion I found I had -engaged an Ananias of the most proficient -type. During his brief <i>régime</i> the weeds thrived -apace, while the choicest bulbs and flowers took -on a world of diskerridgement. When the -black pansies, and the heliotrope Spanish iris -feathered with white and yellow, and the rare -delphiniums, and the yellow arum lily disappeared -at one fell swoop, Ananias shook his -head sadly and put their defalcation down to the -rush of the rain and the angle of the earth.</p> - -<p>“Everything do simply run off this soil!” he -explained.</p> - -<p>Quite true; it certainly did. And two legs -invariably ran with it.</p> - -<p>And the vegetables seemed as subject to -diskerridgement as the flowers, though it was -always referred to as “blight.”</p> - -<p>There were the broad beans, for instance; -I had given him two quarts of seed, and indicated -where I would like them planted. They were a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span> -special prize strain that had been sent to me by -a famous firm of seedsmen, who had been moved -to this generous deed on reading some of the -chronicles of the Flower-patch when they were -first published in <i>The Woman’s Magazine</i>. The -head of the firm wrote me that they were a new -mammoth variety, and they would be pleased -if I would try them in my cottage garden.</p> - -<p>We planned great things when those broad -beans should be ready. Two quarts would make -about ten rows, we reckoned, quite a goodly -plantation for us; and we decided that as we -should have plenty, considering our small household, -we would be extravagant and gather our -first dishful when they were quite young and in -that deliciously tender state that is unknown to -the town dweller, who seldom sees a broad bean -till it is a tough old patriarch, and in such a -condition considers it a coarse vegetable.</p> - -<p>It was a cold day in February when I handed -the seed to Ananias; we were returning to -London the same day, so we beguiled part of -the long journey discussing whether that first -dish should be accompanied by parsley sauce -and boiled ham, or whether to fry the ham and -have the broad beans given one turn in the -frying-pan after they were boiled.</p> - -<p>The subject seemed more and more vital the -further we got along the road, for we couldn’t -get luncheon baskets (no, not the War; it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span> -before that event, and due to one of the many -cheerful strikes with which our pre-war existence -was punctuated), and the bananas and Banbury -cakes we purchased <i>en route</i> seemed woefully -unsatisfying. Hence, it was pleasant, but very -tantalizing, to contemplate that dish of beans, -and we finally agreed that the ham should be -fried, and that we would dig some new potatoes -specially for the occasion. We sat and meditated -on that meal, as the winter landscape flew past -us, and the more we meditated the more -violently hungry we got.</p> - -<p>You see, the beans really assumed more than -ordinary importance.</p> - -<p>But alas, when bean time came, all that -decorated the bean plot was one miserable row -of wretched-looking stalks.</p> - -<p>“It’s that thur blight agin,” remarked Ananias; -“I watched it a-comin’ up the valley.”</p> - -<p>“But why didn’t you pinch off the tops, if -they were showing blight?” I inquired; “then -they would have made fresh shoots lower down.”</p> - -<p>He shook his head and looked at me pityingly: -“We don’t do our beans like that a-here.”</p> - -<p>“And where are all the other rows,” I -asked; “I suppose blight didn’t carry off roots -and all of the remainder?”</p> - -<p>“No, ’twere slugs, I warrant, or birds, or -else the seed were stale, maybe.”</p> - -<p>Ursula carefully turned over the rest of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span> -ground later on, but never a glimmer of a -benighted bean did she find.</p> - -<p>Still, Ananias was, as usual, quite willing -to be obliging. “My beans has done uncommon -well this year,” he continued. “It’s jest all -accordin’ how it takes ’em; sometimes mine -does well and t’other people’s doesn’t; and then -agin t’other people’ll have a fine crop and I -won’t have a bean. I can let you have some o’ -mine if you like. I know you’re powerful fond -o’ broad beans. I allus say you’re jest like my -missus.” (I’m sorry I haven’t a portrait of stout, -unwashed, sixty-five-year-old Sapphira to reproduce; -without it you cannot possibly understand -how pleased I was!)</p> - -<p>He brought over half a bushel, explaining -that he had to charge twopence a pound more -than other people, as these were specially large -and good yielders, that were expensive in the -first place.</p> - -<p>They were remarkably fine beans, indeed as -fine as I have ever seen; and I wrote to the -firm of seedsmen and told them their mammoth -variety had proved all they claimed for it.</p> - -<p>I conclude the miserable row in my garden -was a twopenny packet bought from the travelling -huckster who peddles seeds around the -villages at suitable seasons.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>These instances are sufficient to indicate the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span> -trend of Ursula’s thoughts when she started to -philosophize on the garden. She interrupted her -valuable remarks, however, to exclaim: “Do -look at that wench!” And Virginia might well -be looked at! Her exertions had turned her the -colour of a peony; down her face streamed -copious “extract of forehead.” The clipping -mania had got thorough hold of her, and she -was trying to trim every hedge about the place, -leaving in her wake a trail of clippings for someone -else to clear up—as is the way with all -first-class amateurs.</p> - -<p>The next task pointed out itself. Ursula -got a birch broom, while I trundled the wheelbarrow -out of the tool barn; and seeing that -there was already a pile of greenstuff waiting -disposal, I started a bonfire, while Ursula swept -up and supplied extra fuel.</p> - -<p>I feel sorry for the town dweller; he knows -nothing of the real charm of a bonfire. All too -often the word stands to him for nothing more -than a mass of damp and decaying leaves that -simply won’t burn. He can only attend to it -after his return from business, unless he be one -of the favoured few in town who have gardens -sufficiently large to allow of their keeping regular -gardeners. And unfortunately the lighting restrictions -of the present day give no real scope -to the bonfire maker—even if he has anything -worth burning. His dank mass smoulders to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span> -death, or he adds paraffin to encourage it, and -the neighbours close their windows with meaning -violence, while the parish reeks of the obnoxious -odour. Seldom has he air enough to fan anything -like a good fire; and at length, after -burning the dozenth newspaper, and listening to -minute statistical particularization on the part of -his wife regarding the present price of matches, -collectively and individually (with deviations <i>re</i> -sultanas, lemon soles, kitchen tea, coal-cards, -sugar for the charwoman, ½<i>d.</i> per lb. for delivery, -soda, a financial comparison of pre-war sirloin -with modern soup-bones, and the antiquity of -the new-laid hen), he flings himself disgustedly -indoors again, depositing a layer of greasy town-garden -soil and dead leaves on the door-mat, and -perchance trailing it up to his dressing-room.</p> - -<p>The town bonfire is usually an abomination; -the country bonfire is often sheer delight; and -the reason for this difference is due to the fact -that the shut-in nature of the average town back-plot -seldom supplies the good current of air that -a bonfire needs to get it going full-swing; and -more than this, the refuse that collects in a -town garden is often sooty, unsanitary and malodorous. -Whereas in the country there is a great -diversity of stuff to be burnt, and much of it is -delightfully aromatic. Also, the wind that -sweeps continually over our hills, for instance, -dries up the rubbish pile—unless it be actually<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span> -raining; we seldom get that dank sodden stuff -that is the bane of the town gardener. We can -always get a current of air, if not a stiff breeze, -to fan the first stages; and being unhampered -by the claims of city offices, we can start it in the -morning, and keep it going the whole day long. -Our only trouble is to get the red-hot mass to -slumber through the night; it has such a trick -of suddenly bursting out again about 2 <span class="smcap">a.m.</span>, -lighting up the cottage in the dark, and flaming -forth a vivid beacon worthy of the men of -Harlech, and recalling stirring scenes in old -romance—only the local constabulary have no -poetic leanings, and merely see in it a case for a -£10 fine under the Defence of the Realm Act.</p> - -<p>I started the bonfire—not with newspapers, -these are far too few and precious; why, our -very paper bags are smoothed out and treasured -in a dresser drawer; some done-with straw and -dry leaves make a good beginning, with some of -the dead twigs from the larches. If there are -laurel clippings to put on next, and there usually -are, then success is assured.</p> - -<p>Soon the flames were licking up my initial -work, and I proceeded to pile on hedge trimmings, -the sweepings-up of an apple-tree that -had blown down and been sawn up—and how -sweet they made the air! Thistles, nettles, -brambles, surplus raspberry canes that spring up -everywhere, a holly-bush that had lately been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span> -cut down, worthless gooseberry bushes, piles of -ivy that had been cut from the walls, more -barrow-loads of stuff tipped on by Ursula—how -the laurel flared and the yew crackled, and one’s -eyes smarted as the smoke swept round like a -whirlwind and enveloped one at times! I am a -great believer in the burning of all refuse vegetation; -it does away with so much blight and -vermin and plant disease, and clears out mosquito -haunts, and is generally sanitary.</p> - -<p>Virginia had betaken herself to cooler climes, -but Ursula and I worked at that heap, forking -on new stuff to stop up flame bursts, till we too -were shedding dew from our foreheads, and our -hands were almost sore with wielding the heavy -forks.</p> - -<p>Yet a fascination keeps you at it, till you are -smoke-dried and fire-toasted and arm-aching to -the last degree. When the shades of evening -finally call you in (as a rule, meals are most -perfunctory when a bonfire is in progress) you -are saturated from head to foot with the bonfire, -your very hair has absorbed the time-old pungent -odour of the smoke of forest fires.</p> - -<p>And maybe months and months afterwards -you open a seldom used wardrobe, where old -gardening gear and shabby mackintoshes are -kept, and suddenly you are overwhelmed with -the scent of burning pear and birch leaves and -yew; the lure of the woods calls aloud to you;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span> -you feel the sweep of the winds on the hills -alternating with the great swirls of grey-blue -bonfire smoke; the cramped town vanishes, and -you are in free open spaces once more——</p> - -<p>And all because a certain tweed skirt, or -light gardening coat is hanging in the corner of -the wardrobe.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>If you want a bonfire with a delicious scent -that will haunt you with a poignant memory -long after its ashes have gone the way of all -things, pile up dead apple leaves and twigs, -pine needles, beech leaves, the trimmings of the -sweet bay bushes, brambles, rose-stalks and -larch—and the incense of the forest will be -yours, bringing with it a mystic sense of nearness -to primæval things that no perfume sold in -cut-glass bottles has yet been able to conjure up.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>We didn’t wait till sun-down, however, that -day; for we were in the most thrilling part of -the afternoon forking-up, and our complexions -were at their very, <i>very</i> worst, when Abigail -tripped out and announced:</p> - -<p>“The Rector. . . . Oh, you needn’t worry -about your appearance, ma’am. Miss Virginia’s -talking to him. . . . Yes, she’s changed <i>her</i> -dress, and is telling him just what you look like.”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>XV<br /> - -<small>The Meeting at the -Cottage</small></h2> - - -<p class="unindent">“<span class="smcap">I have</span> been wondering,” the Rector began, “if -it would be possible for you to let us have a -Temperance Meeting here in your cottage? I -feel sure it would be productive of good, and we -sadly need more aggressive Temperance work in -this parish. And a little gathering in a private -house would be more of a novelty than one held -in the Parish Room, or at the Rectory.”</p> - -<p>“A Temperance Meeting!” I repeated, rather -hesitatingly, I confess. I knew well enough that -there was work waiting to be done in this -direction, but whether those who most needed -reforming could be got inside my door was quite -another matter.</p> - -<p>“Oh, but I am not meaning an evening -meeting for the purpose of reaching the men -themselves,” the Rector explained. “My idea -is to have an afternoon Ladies’ Meeting to -discuss more particularly the question of prohibition. -We might eventually get up a week -of meetings in various parts of the district. Only -it all wants talking over. There are a number of -ladies who would be willing to aid, if only some -definite scheme were put before them. If you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span> -would issue the invitations, I know they would -be only too pleased to come; and we could -possibly get a committee appointed as the initial -step in the proceedings.”</p> - -<p>I saw at once that the idea was a practical -one. Quite a goodly handful of ladies would be -available from houses dotted here and there upon -the hillside. So we made a list of those living -near enough to me to be invited.</p> - -<p>“Now, have we overlooked anybody?” I -said finally, going down the list once more. It -included the Manor House and one or two other -large country houses where I knew the people -would be sympathetic, the rest being cottage-residences -and small places inhabited by people -of the educated classes, who kept simple, unassuming -establishments—some from choice, -some because their means were small. In several -cases the ladies dispensed with any servant, finding -that life’s problems and breakages and fingermarks -were much reduced when they did the -work themselves!</p> - -<p>“By the way, there are two visitors in the -place at present, who would like to come, I am -sure,” said the Rector, “One is a very nice girl, -who has been doing V.A.D. work since the -beginning of the War. She is here recruiting -after a nervous breakdown; and is boarding at -the Jones’s farm—I know she would appreciate -an invitation.” I duly wrote down her name.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span></p> - -<p>“And the other, Miss Togsie, is a literary -lady, and is lodging with old Mrs. Perkins; do -you happen to know her name?”</p> - -<p>I had never heard it before.</p> - -<p>“Ah! neither had I. But then that would -not be remarkable. Only she seemed surprised -to think I did not know of her, though, so far as -I can ascertain, she has never actually published -anything. She is engaged on some book of -research, which she regards as an important -contribution to the literature of the times, though -for the moment the subject has escaped my -memory. She is so exceedingly anxious to -meet you; in fact, she—er—suggested that I -should take her with me to call on you; but I -told her that you come down here for rest and -quiet, and to escape the conventionalities of -society. She is rather a—er—persistent lady, -however; and she says her admiration for you is -unbounded. So possibly, if you have no objection, -it might make a pleasant interlude if she -were invited also.”</p> - -<p>I was not very anxious to have her, but I -agreed, as the Rector seemed to wish it. Still, I -am afraid my smile was a trifle ironical, as I tailed -the list with her name.</p> - -<p>Unfortunately, the very day of the meeting -was the one suddenly selected by Abigail’s sister -for her wedding; of course, I insisted that -Abigail must not miss the function, and sent her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span> -back to town the day before. But when the -preparations were divided between the three of -us, they did not amount to much in the way of -extra work; and Ursula made herself responsible -for the fresh relays of tea that would be necessary -for new arrivals.</p> - -<p>As is the custom in the country, everybody -walked round the garden to see how the things -were coming on, and we all compared notes with -each other’s gardens, and, of course, everybody -complimented me on the forwardness of my -things—as in duty bound, seeing they were -drinking my tea!</p> - -<p>The V.A.D. proved a delightful girl, very -nervous at first, but very appreciative. And as -all my other visitors were fully engaged in -chatting together in twos and threes, I devoted -myself to the shy outsider. The Literary Lady -had not yet appeared.</p> - -<p>“I come up every day and look over the wall -at your flowers,” the girl said. “I believe -they’ve done me far more good than the tonic -I’ve been taking.”</p> - -<p>“I invariably take a dose of them myself, -when I’m run down,” I replied. We were -wandering around the narrow paths, between the -beds edged with pieces of grey stone. The paths -were beginning to be weedy; and the garden -was a mixture of early and late spring flowers, -owing to the undue length of the winter.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span></p> - -<p>But for the V.A.D. there were no imperfections. -“I’ve never seen cowslips like these -before,” and she stooped and touched them -lovingly. “Those mahogany-coloured ones are -so rich. And I like the deep reddy-orange ones -too. Oh—I like them all!” she added, with a -sigh of pleasure. “And when I was ill in -London, before they sent me down here, I felt -as though I should die if I couldn’t get away -somewhere, where there were flowers and sunshine -and where the trees and foliage were fresh -and clean. Wherever I looked there were grey -skies, and dingy houses, and discoloured paint, -and dirty streets, and miserable-looking squares -and sooty stuff that it was pitiful to call grass, -and smoke and mud all the same colour and -equally stupefying. Do you think that dirt can -get on people’s nerves?”</p> - -<p>I nodded. Don’t I know only too well how -the grime and gloom and all-pervading sordidness -of big cities can get on one’s nerves! Don’t -I know how in time they seem to corrode -one’s very soul, and dull one’s vision, till faith -itself can become clouded, and hope goes, and all -one’s work seems of no avail! But the merciful -Lord has provided an antidote. It was a Tree -He showed at the waters of Marah; and the -leaves of the Tree are for the healing of the -nations in more senses than one.</p> - -<p>The girl continued her confidences: “When<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span> -I lay awake at nights with insomnia, I used to -shut my eyes and think out the garden I wanted -to find. It wasn’t a grand garden, or a gorgeous -one that I used to plan—carpet bedding and -terraces with beds of geraniums and peacocks -would have tired me to arrange in proper style -just then. The garden I wanted was the sort of -happy place where flowers seem to grow of their -own accord with no one to worry them about -tidy habits!</p> - -<p>“And then, it was quite remarkable, the day -after I arrived here, I chanced upon the lane -leading to your cottage, and there I saw the very -garden I had been so longing for, and the masses -of flowers and colour I had been quite hungry to -see. I could hardly tear myself away from the -little gate. Of course, the florists wouldn’t think -much of me for saying it, but although I admire -with real wonder the magnificent blooms they -exhibit at shows, I would rather have that piece -of rocky wall, with its wallflowers on the top, -than the most expensive orchids they could show -me. But perhaps all this seems rather childish -to you?”</p> - -<p>Yet it didn’t! I knew exactly what she -meant; and every flower-lover will understand it -too. There are times when I go a good deal -farther than the V.A.D., and actually object to -some of the improvements on Nature horticulturists -think they can make. What is gained by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span> -trying to produce rhododendrons looking like -gypsophila, while at the same time they are -trying to get gypsophila looking like pæonies? -What purpose is served in the modern craze for -getting every flower to look like any other flower -excepting itself? While I don’t mean to imply -that I am so narrow as to object to attempts at -horticultural development, there certainly are -limits to desirable expansion—as Shakespeare -very well knew.</p> - -<p>But I had no time to say more, for as she -was speaking I caught sight in the distance of a -stalwart, aggressive-looking female, with an armful -of MSS. and walking-stick clasped to her -waistbelt, and clad in a long, loose, tussore silk -coat (we were all wearing them short at the -moment) that she clutched to her chest with her -other hand, as it had lost its fastenings, and was -threatening to blow away. Her hat was of the -fluffy “girlie” description, somewhat bizarre in -shape, which looked preposterous above the -lady’s mature locks, more especially as she had -put it on hind part front, not even bothering -herself to ascertain its compass points.</p> - -<p>Miss Togsie was blandly unconscious of any -incongruity in her personal appearance, and -entered the gate with the assured step of “mind -quite oblivious of matter.” Precipitating herself -on Ursula—the only hatless person in -sight, hence evidently not a fellow guest—she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span> -exclaimed in a strident voice, “The Editor of <i>The -Woman’s Magazine</i>, I believe? <i>So</i> glad to meet -you. I’ve been <i>longing</i> to know you. <i>So</i> kind -of you to ask me to this <i>delightful</i> gathering——” -etc.</p> - -<p>Now, as I told Ursula later, if she had been -a true friend, she would merely have smiled -sweetly and wafted the new arrival into the -house, and silenced her with refreshments. -Instead of which, she meanly disclaimed all -editorial connections, and piloted her up the -garden to me. Whereupon we began all over -again. I waited patiently till she reached a -semicolon, and then invited her to come indoors -and have some tea.</p> - -<p>“No tea for <i>me</i>, thank you!” she exclaimed, -in tones of stern disapproval. “I never touch -tea.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps you would like some milk and a -sandwich?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no! I never take flesh foods of any -description. I adhere strictly to the fruit diet -which Nature has so bountifully provided for -our use. If you happen to have a banana, or a -few muscatels——” I hadn’t.</p> - -<p>“It’s of no consequence,” she said, with an -air of kindly tolerance for my shortcomings. -“I’m perfectly happy here under the blue dome -of heaven.” My other guests seemed to have -had enough of her already, and were making<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span> -their way towards the house, as it was nearly -time to start the meeting; but Virginia linked -her arm in that of the V.A.D., and followed -close at my heels; for her, the lady promised to -be interesting.</p> - -<p>“Oh, what adorable kroki!” the newcomer -went on, without any break, apostrophising a few -late crocuses that were already looking jaded. -“And those daisies! I do so <i>love</i> daisies, don’t -you? ‘Wee modest crimson-tipped flowers’—you -remember the poet’s allusion, of course? -So appropriate.” The flowers she was pointing -at with her knotty walking-stick were particularly -large, buxom-looking red double daisies, a -prize variety, that not even the imagination of -a poet could have described as “wee”!</p> - -<p>“It’s wonderful how literature opens one’s -eyes to the beauties of nature. I always say -‘Read the poets,’ then it will not matter whether -you stay in town or country, nature will be an -open book to you.” (Undoubtedly the Literary -Lady had arrived; and she was bent either on -improving or on impressing us!) “The poets -take you into the very <i>heart</i> of things. ‘A -primrose by a river’s brim’; where can you find -a truer picture of the simple wayside flower? -And isn’t that an exquisite line, ‘A rose by any -other name would smell as sweet’? I entirely -agree with Shakespeare in this” (which was nice -of her!); “it is just as I was saying, it really<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span> -doesn’t matter whether you know a single flower -individually—or whether you have ever seen a -flower, in fact—all nature can be yours. I consider -it criminal to neglect the poets. Wherever -the eye wanders,” she went on, “it recalls some -great truth that has been crystallised for us by -literary men” (evidently the flowers themselves -were of small count; all that mattered was what -pen-and-ink could make out of them).</p> - -<p>“And Ladysmocks all silver white.” It was -evident that she was warming to the work and -going farther afield, for here the stick took a -dangerous sweep round in mid-air (Virginia -saved her head by dodging it), and was now -pointing into the copse the other side of the -garden-wall, where the anemones were still in -bloom. “I simply revel in Lady’s Smocks, -don’t you?” she said ardently to Virginia, and -then smiled expansively into the copse, though -there wasn’t a solitary Lady’s Smock there.</p> - -<p>“For my own part, I must say I prefer -Doxies,” said Virginia sweetly. “‘The Doxy -over the dale,’ as Shakespeare so beautifully -expresses it. Don’t you just <i>love</i> them?”</p> - -<p>The V.A.D. had turned her back on us and -was studying the distant hills.</p> - -<p>“Virginia,” I interpolated hurriedly, for I -scented trouble immediately ahead, “isn’t that -the Rector coming up the lane? Then we -must be getting indoors.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span></p> - -<p>But the Literary Lady had not nearly said -all she had come intending to say; so she told -me as we walked to the house that she herself -was engaged on a most exhaustive literary work, -entitled, “The Cosmic Evidences of Woman’s -Supremacy.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” I said, in a blank tone of voice that -wasn’t intended to commit me to anything. -I’ve handled many similarly exhaustive MSS. in -my time, and I’ve met many authoresses of the -same, and my one terror was lest she should -start to give me a detailed synopsis of each -chapter. But fortunately we reached the house -before she could get fairly launched.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>After the opening hymn and prayer, the -Rector briefly sketched his idea in calling the -meeting together, and, after reminding us how -desirable it was at a time like this that some -active campaign should be set afoot to combat -the drunkenness that had been such a bane to -our land, he asked if any ladies who had suggestions -to make would kindly speak briefly and to -the point. Hardly had he sat down before the -Literary Lady was on her feet urging upon us -all the necessity for giving up our inebriate -habits! You would have thought she was -addressing loafers inside a public-house.</p> - -<p>I sat as patiently as I could waiting for her -to sit down and give place to someone else, who,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span> -at least, knew whom they were addressing. But -next moment I found, to my amazement, that -she was lecturing us on the advantages of a -fruitarian diet, assuring us that most of the evils -flesh is heir to (including drunkenness) would be -done away with if we only chained our appetites -to fruit. She was blissfully unaware that the -cause of all the trouble in our district was—cider! -After every form of food that was not -fruit had been abused, she passed on—by a -transition that seemed easy to her, but unaccountable -to everyone else—to the question of -woman’s suffrage, and we learnt that another -cause for drunkenness was to be found in the -fact that women had had no votes. And then -it dawned upon me that we had let ourselves -in for an afternoon with some irresponsible -crank.</p> - -<p>It really seemed as though she meant to go -on for ever. The Rector’s gentle and courteous -attempts to stem the rushing torrent were not -of the slightest avail. He tried to interpolate a -remark now and again, but she never even heard -him; she was addressing us at the very top of -her voice. Of course he ought to have stopped -her at the very outset; but then the situation -was one he had never before been called upon to -face in the whole of his seventy years; hers was -the first female voice to be raised in our parish -in defiance of the Rector!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span></p> - -<p>Equally, of course, I ought to have stopped -her; but one hesitates to take the initiative in -such a case when there is a chairman, and -eventually I let matters get quite beyond me. -I did rise at the back of the room and try to ask -a few questions, but all in vain; the speaker -never paused, and at last I meekly sat down -again, while Virginia and Ursula, with the -V.A.D. between them, suffocated in their -handkerchiefs and showed distinct signs of -getting out of hand! Besides what <i>can</i> anyone -do under such circumstances? I asked Ursula, -who once attended election meetings, what it was -usual to do, and she said, “You just turn them -out when they talk too much.” But who was -to turn her out? And how do you set about it?</p> - -<p>It was evident from her absurd and illogical -statements that neither the Fruitarians nor the -Woman’s Suffrage party owned her or would -have authorised her to advocate their claims. -She was merely one of those women one meets -occasionally who take up every new craze that -comes along, and get on their feet and speak -about their latest hobby, in season and out of -season, having not the slightest sense of proportion, -and of the fitness of things. Such a -woman loves to hear her own voice, and imagines -that other people love to hear it too!</p> - -<p>After half an hour of this sort of thing the -lady of the Manor took her departure—not very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span> -quietly either! As I stepped outside in the -porch to bid her a mournful “Good-bye,” she -pressed my hand and murmured—</p> - -<p>“You poor dear! Do let me know who -finally chokes her!”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>How we should have silenced her eventually -I don’t know, but the matter was taken out of -our hands by no less important a personage -than Johnny, the boy who delivered the bread -from the village shop.</p> - -<p>Unable to find any Abigail at the kitchen -door, he had come along to the other door to -know how many loaves I required. From my -seat in the room I tried to indicate, by dumb -pantomime, that I wanted one loaf; Miss Smith -caught sight of him, and remembering that she -was two miles away from any bread if he overlooked -her, she told him in a clear voice not to -forget to leave her a loaf. Then everyone else -in the room woke up to the fact that Johnny -was outside, and with one accord they all asked -him if he had remembered them, or told him -how many loaves to leave, and no one troubled -in the slightest whether it interfered with the -speaker or not. In fact, they seemed to enjoy -the clatter they were making.</p> - -<p>Johnny, being attacked by so many voices at -once, stood on the doorstep and addressed the -room stolidly and respectfully—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I’ve lef’ your loaf on the window-ledge, -Miss Primkins; an’ I put two for you in the -fork of the apple-tree, Miss Robinson, so’s the -dog can’t get at it, as he’s loose; an’ Miss Jones, -your’n is on the garden seat; and I’ve a-put -Mrs. Wilson’s a-top of the wood-pile wiv a bit -of paper under it”—(undue favouritism to -Mrs. Wilson, we all thought!)—“an’ I’ve lef’ -your nutmegs and soda and coffee on the doorstep, -Miss White; and I driv a cow out of your -garden, what had got in, Miss Parker; the gate -was lef’ open; but he’s latched up all right -now——”</p> - -<p>At this intelligence the room gave a general -shuffle, preparatory to a stampede. Why, a -cow might have got into every garden! Who -could tell? And only those who have cherished -gardens in the country know what terrible import -lurked in the words, “The gate was lef’ open!”</p> - -<p>The Rector, seeing where matters were -trending, said we would close with a hymn. -Before he had given out more than one line, -Ursula did what she had never done before, and -has never done since—raised the tune! She -said it was sheer hysterics made her do so. At -any rate we all took it up vigorously, because -we saw the Literary Lady was trying to add a -postscript to her previous remarks. It’s true, -Ursula started us on a six-lined tune, whereas -the verses were only four lines each, but I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span> -fortunately discovered it in time, and repeated -the last two lines to save the situation.</p> - -<p>The people all left hurriedly as soon as the -Benediction had been pronounced; most of -them looking unutterable things at me for -having let them in for such a time! The Literary -Lady alone seemed to have enjoyed herself, -and went away leaving the bundle of MSS. -she had brought, after telling me that she -intended to call on me the very next afternoon -and bring me “The Cosmic Evidences,” as she -felt sure it would be the very thing for my -magazine. The unkindest cut of all, however, -was the farewell remark made by the Vicar’s -niece, as she was adjusting her bonnet-strings—</p> - -<p>“I can’t think why on earth you ever asked -that individual to address us; but I suppose she -is some personal friend of yours?”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>When the two girls and I were left alone -with the general disorder that always prevails -after one’s guests have gone, Ursula made some -tea, and Virginia brought in what was left of the -festal fare, and we sat around the fire and ate in -melancholy silence.</p> - -<p>“I’m going to town by the very first train -to-morrow,” I said at last.</p> - -<p>“So ’m I!” fervently ejaculated the other -two in unison. “And may I never set eyes -or ears on that fruit creature again,” added<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span> -Virginia, as she set down her plate, with an air -of a pain in her chest, after her sixth cucumber -sandwich.</p> - -<p>But, though I escaped the lady’s next call, I -had not got to the end of her. She sent an -avalanche of MSS. to my office, and called persistently -in person. Howbeit, she never was -troubled to walk beyond the inquiry office, and -her MSS. were always returned to her with the -utmost promptitude.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Some weeks later Virginia and I, after doing -some shopping in the stores, turned into the -refreshment-room for lunch. I do not know any -place where a more varied assortment of feminine -idiosyncrasies thrust themselves upon one’s -notice than in the ladies’ luncheon-room; neither -do I know any place where you can hear, within -a given space of time, more particulars of the -births, marriages, ailments and deaths—plus a -wealth of intervening data—of people you know -nothing about, than in that self-same room.</p> - -<p>We had hardly taken our seats at a table -before we were accompanying our next-door -neighbour to a dentist, she being in a state of -<i>complete</i> nervous prostration (full symptoms -given), and having four teeth extracted (<i>most</i> -obstinate one that came out in eleven separate -pieces) with gas that wouldn’t “take” (italicised -description of what the victim underwent, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span> -was conscious of, in her half-gone condition). -After this we dallied through an exceedingly -comprehensive catalogue of what she had been -able to take in the way of nourishment since the -momentous occasion; and finally received, with -breathless interest, the important information as -to the exact date when she would be once more -fully equipped for dinner-parties.</p> - -<p>On our right two more were discussing, with -gusto, the doings (none of them, apparently, -what she ought to have done) of a bride who -had recently entered their family.</p> - -<p>Our own corner of the room was so engaging -that we did not notice the newcomers who were -finding seats at other tables. But suddenly, -above the general chatter, there arose the sound -of a strident voice that there was no possibility -of mistaking. Virginia and I gasped simultaneously; -and there, a short distance away -from us (though, fortunately with its back -towards us), we beheld the fluffy hat (rightside -front this time), above a screw of hair, and the -long tussore coat of recent blessed memories! -The Literary Lady had a friend with her, but -obviously the friend didn’t count for much, she -hadn’t a chance; at most she only squeezed in a -word when the other made a semi-pause for -breath. We sat spell-bound, and this is what -we heard:</p> - -<p>“Now, dear, what are you going to have?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span> -They have soup, roast beef, roast lamb and mint -sauce, roast mutton” (and so on, she declaimed -the menu to the bitter end, while a long-suffering -waitress stood first on one tired foot -and then on the other). “Oh, but you must -have something more than a bun. . . . Nonsense, -that was hours ago; I had mine late, too, -but I’m quite ready for lunch. . . . On strict -diet, are you? That doesn’t count. Specialists -always say that sort of thing; that’s what you -pay the money for; but it doesn’t follow that -you do what they say. Why, you’d starve to -death if you did, and then you’d have to go to -them again and pay another fee—though I dare -say that’s their idea. . . . You would like a -little roast lamb? Well, I might manage a -little, too, if it is <i>very</i> hot; but I expect they’ve -only got it about lukewarm. If the roast lamb -isn’t quite . . . what? It’s <i>cold?</i> All the joints -are cold? The waitress says it’s <i>cold</i>, dear! -Isn’t it simply ridiculous in a place like London -never to be able to get a hot lunch! . . . What? -The grill is hot? But, my good girl, I don’t -want any grill. . . . And the soup and fish? I -don’t want either soup or fish. . . . No, and I -don’t want hot steak-and-kidney pie. I wanted -hot roast lamb. Still, if you haven’t it, I -suppose it isn’t your fault. All the same, it does -seem as if you are—— . . . . Sausages, did -you say? They would be rather nice. Now<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span> -are <i>they</i> hot or cold, which? . . . <i>Smoked??</i> -Only <i>smoked</i> sausages?? Did you ever know -such a place! . . . What do you say to oysters? . . . -You thought I only took fruit? I tried -that for a little while; my last doctor but one -was very keen on it; but if you believe me, I -was losing <i>pounds</i> a week! I should have been -a perfect skeleton by now if I’d gone on. So I -went to another man, and he insisted—absolutely -<i>insisted</i> that I must take food containing a larger -percentage of proteids. And I wasn’t sorry; I -never had any faith in that fruit idea, only I met -that doctor when I was at the Hydro, and he -begged me to try it. A most charming man, -and he took the <i>greatest</i> interest in my writings; -but someone told me only last week that he has -a wife who is a positive—— . . . . Salmon? Is -there salmon? I didn’t notice it. That wouldn’t -be bad, would it? and the very best thing you -could have as you’re dieting; so digestible, I -always find. Now where’s that girl gone? I -declare they slip away the minute your back’s -turned, and they don’t give you a moment to -look at the menu. Is that our waitress over -there? I think it is; she has on an apron just -like the girl who was here. . . . That’s true, now -you mention it; their aprons are all alike. Still, -I think that was the one, and she’s gone over -there on purpose to be out of reach. But I’ll go -to her.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span></p> - -<p>Here Virginia and I narrowly escaped detection, -for the Literary Lady strode across the -room, knocking down other people’s umbrellas -in passing, brushing one lady’s velvet stole from -the back of a chair, and kicking over a tray that -had been put down in, apparently, the most out-of-the-way -spot in the room. Clutching the -arm of the waitress who belonged to our table -and had no dealings with the other end of the -room, she demanded immediate service. Instinctively -Virginia and I bent our heads forward -as low as possible over our plates, and fortunately -the wide brims of our hats helped to conceal our -features. But we only breathed freely when she -returned to her seat to report to her friend—</p> - -<p>“That waitress says the other girl will be -back in a minute; but I doubt it. There; now -<i>she’s</i> gone off too! Ah, here’s ours—at last! -Now, dear, you said sausage, didn’t you? Or -did we decide on oysters? . . . You’re right; it -was salmon. I always think that salmon—— . . . . -What did you say? . . . Why, of <i>course</i> -we want bread! We couldn’t eat it without, -could we? . . . Oh, I see, you mean bread or -roll? She says will you have bread or roll, -dear? . . . Yes, rolls would be nice, but—— Waitress! -Not crusty ones! . . . Well, perhaps -bread <i>would</i> be softer for you under the -circumstances. Stale bread, waitress! Those -rolls are usually as hard as—— . . . . Yes, perhaps<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span> -we <i>had</i> better decide on what we will have to -drink. I’m going to have lime-juice. You’d -better have some too. It goes so well with -salmon. . . . Of course they have coffee, if you -really prefer it; but I do think that lime-juice—— Well, -if that girl hasn’t gone off again! They -do nothing but run about from pillar to post. -Oh, she is bringing the other things! <i>That</i> isn’t -brown bread, waitress! I said <i>brown</i> bread -surely? I <i>must</i> have said brown bread, because -I positively cannot touch anything else. Don’t -you remember I called you back and said, ‘<i>Brown</i> -bread, waitress?’ Well, if you can change it, -that’s all right. Wait a minute, though; after -all, I think I’ll have white. . . . Yes, you can -leave it; but all the same, I can’t think why -people never listen to what one says.”</p> - -<p>Here half the room broke out into an unconcealed -smile; <i>i.e.</i>, the half that had found it -impossible to raise their voices above hers, and so -had finally given it up as hopeless, and now -devoted themselves to listening. But all oblivious -of everything but herself, she continued—</p> - -<p>“I don’t like the look of that salmon. I feel -sure it’s been frozen. Is that the best you have? -It looks to me like New Zealand or Canterbury -salmon! Really, <i>everything</i> seems to be made in -Germany nowadays, doesn’t it? And no mayonnaise. . . ? -It’s in the cruet? I never care for -that bottled stuff. . . . Oh, yes, leave it; but I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span> -wish now that we had had oysters. . . . It’s no -use offering to change it; we’ve done nothing -else so far but have wrong things brought us to -have changed—or at least it would have been -changed if I hadn’t consented to put up with the -white bread. But you can bring us some lime-juice. -Now don’t forget <i>this</i> time and bring -ginger-beer. . . . Yes, lime-juice for two. . . . -But I thought you agreed to lime-juice just -now? . . . Oh, have what you like by all means; -<i>I</i> don’t mind what it is; I only advised lime-juice -because coffee is so <i>very</i> bad for anyone on -diet, and you can’t be too careful; still, please -yourself, only <i>do</i> let us decide on <i>something</i>, or -she’ll be off again. . . . That’s it, one coffee and -one lime-juice. . . . Yes, with plenty of milk. . . . -Now, I wonder if that scatter-brained girl will -go and put the milk in the lime-juice?</p> - -<p>“You were surprised to hear I was back in -town? I returned last week. I absolutely -couldn’t have <i>existed</i> on that benighted hill-top -another hour. . . . I knew the moment I set -eyes on it that it wasn’t sufficiently cooked. No -one could be expected to eat it. She must get -us something else. Waitress! This salmon -isn’t <i>half</i>-done. It’s as soft as. . . . Oh, I see; -yours is hard? Well, at any rate, it isn’t what -it ought to be. Mine is quite spongy, and this -lady’s is as hard as . . . the skin, is it? . . . this -lady’s skin is just like leather. . . . I suppose it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span> -had better be oysters. . . . Now I wonder how -much longer she’ll keep us waiting? But as I -was saying, they were the dullest, most bucolic -set of people I ever came across; not a thought -above their fowls and cabbages. I tried to -discuss Art and Literature with them—simple -things, not too far above their heads, you know, -just to draw them out; but they merely gazed -at me in utter blankness. . . . Yes, she has a -cottage there; I’d forgotten I mentioned it in -my letter. . . . Oh, yes, I met her; in fact she -persuaded me to address a drawing-room meeting -at her house; she got it up on purpose, hearing -I was in the district. I could ill afford to spare -the time from my book; but she wrote and -made <i>such</i> a point of it, that I could hardly -refuse without seeming rude. She invited a -number of the local people to meet me; but a -more stupid, unimpressionable collection of—— - . . . what is she like? <i>Most</i> ordinary. As you -know, I’m endowed with unusual intuition, and -can gauge people and sum them up in a <i>moment</i>, -and I must say I found her a <i>very</i> uninteresting -person—not to say exceedingly heavy.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>“Which only proves,” said Virginia when we -got outside, “that even the worst of us may -profit by hearing the truth spoken in love!”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>XVI<br /> - -<small>Moon-Gold in the -Garden</small></h2> - - -<p class="unindent"><span class="smcap">The</span> flame of August is over all the garden, a -blaze of yellow and scarlet, orange and red, for -most of the blues and pinks go out with July, -though the lavender flowers are opening intensely -blue, and big clumps of eryngium, with -blue stems as well as blue flower-heads, make -masses of contrasting colour amidst the sunflowers, -single and double, and the eschscholtzias -and marigolds glowing golden and undaunted by -the hottest sunshine. The flowers of the Red-hot-poker -rival their namesakes; broad spreading -clumps of montbretia, each waving hundreds of -fiery orange and red blossoms, have sprung into -existence, since last we were here, from lowly -modest-looking patches of green blades.</p> - -<p>The second crop of Gloire-de-Dijon roses are -out, likewise holding in their hearts remembrance -of the hot sunshine that pervades the -earth. Geraniums, turned out of doors “to get -a little air” (though there certainly isn’t much -to get just now!), are shouting aloud in pride of -their heavy, scarlet bosses. The mountain-ash -trees contribute plenty of colour, each branch<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span> -bent down with a smother of bunches of berries, -which are being eagerly devoured by blackbirds, -thrushes and hawfinches.</p> - -<p>Tall red and yellow hollyhocks try to -persuade you that they are nearly as high, and -quite as brilliant, as the mountain-ash.</p> - -<p>Nasturtiums trail all over the place, climbing -where there is next to nothing to support them, -with flowers so thick you lose count of the -foliage. And what a dazzling mass they make, -touched apparently with every shade of yellow -and brown and red, from blossoms of palest -primrose marked with vivid scarlet, past salmon-colour -streaked with orange, and lemon yellow -splashed with chocolate, to dark mahogany-red -smoked with deep purple-brown. They smother -weeds (that gain in impudence as the season -advances), and cover bare places where bulbs -and earlier blooming plants have died down. -They hang over the tops of walls; they crowd -the border pinks into the paths; they get mixed -up with the hedges, and surprise you by sending -out vermilion flowers at the top of a sedate old -box-tree clipped to look like a solid square table. -They run out of the little white gate into the -lane, and they creep under the rails into the -orchard. Indeed, there are times when their -exuberance almost makes one tired, more especially -if the thermometer favours the nineties!</p> - -<p>The garden walls are teeming with colour.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span> -Sweet Alyssum has seeded itself wherever it can -find a spare niche—rather a difficulty, unless a -plant goes house-hunting quite early in the -season! Though the white and purple arabis -finished flowering months ago, it contributes -crimson and purple to the colour scheme, as its -foliage ripens in the hot sun.</p> - -<p>Any intelligent gardener can tell me that the -top of a sunny wall is far too hot for a fuschia. -Certainly; and of course it is—especially in -August. Yet some misguided person had one -planted there—just where the wall has a break -in it, and a flight of steps leads down to the next -level. It is the lovely old-fashioned bush sort, -smothered with slender drooping blossoms; and -it reaches out long arms that arch right over the -steps, and as you go down, unless you lower -your head, you set a-tinkling scores of crimson -bells with rich blue-purple centres.</p> - -<p>And people who understand all about fuchsias -glare at it severely, and then at me, and remark, -“A most unsuitable position!”</p> - -<p>And where nothing else in particular is -making any sort of a show, the ubiquitous Herb -Robert spreads itself about, on the top of the -walls, or roots in crevices down the sides—it -isn’t particular where; so long as there are stones -that need clothing with loveliness, there you will -find it, laying its crimson leaves with a lacy -airiness over the stern surface of the rock.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span></p> - -<p>The very scents of the garden are hot and -pungent, as one rubs against thyme and marjoram, -or the great sage bush that smothers one -wall. The trees of sweet bay were cut in the -morning; the rosemary bushes had to be trimmed -where their branches were lying on the ground; -someone has stepped on pieces in passing.</p> - -<p>All day long the heat strikes down on the -parched, cracking earth, baking the stones, -shrivelling up any fern fronds that chance to -catch its direct rays, drying up the little brook, -and testing the powers of endurance of the -scarlets and yellows, orange and reds, that are -flaunting themselves in the face of the sun.</p> - -<p>To sit out of doors is only possible beneath -the firs and larches, in the green shade by the -wood house, where the sun never penetrates; and -even here it makes one warm to watch the glare -beyond the thicket of trees, the hot air quivering, -nothing but butterflies and dragon flies about, -and nought to break a breathless silence but -the twitter of the tits, grub-hunting in the -larches, and the perpetual hum of uncountable -insects, who seem to find no heat too great.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>But presently the shadows of the pines begin -to lengthen, and in the shade thrown by the -larches along the meadow side blackbirds are -seen making short runs along the ground on -foraging expeditions. Chaffinches, tits, linnets,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span> -and bullfinches come out from green hiding -places and go down to the birds’ bath to drink.</p> - -<p>Longer grow the shadows, the swallows rise -and take high curving sweeps in the upper air—wonderful -little aeronauts whom no man has -trained.</p> - -<p>As the sun touches the top of the opposite -hills a breeze wakes up the birch wood, whispering -that the sunset will soon be here, and the -leaves start talking about the stifling heat that -so exhausted them through the day.</p> - -<p>The sun drops lower behind the hill; rabbits -peep out from beneath the brambles, then make -for the hummocky field that adjoins my cabbages, -the field where the big oaks stretch wide arms -over soft, green, luscious grass—Offa’s Oaks we -have named these ancient giants, because they -border Offa’s Dyke; and they have so often -described to the more youthful birch trees the -time when they saw Offa, King of Mercia, come -marching past in 765 <small>A.D.</small>, that at length they -have actually come to believe they were alive -and flourishing in his day! We humour their -age by pretending that it was so.</p> - -<p>At last the sun disappears, flaming to the -last in crimson and gold, orange and red. The -breeze gets lustier after the sun has gone under, -and a squirrel comes scampering head first down -a tall fir-tree, in search of a delicious toadstool -that he sometimes finds at its base. Pheasants<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span> -strut up out of the coppice, and roam about the -pasture.</p> - -<p>Imperceptibly, you know not whence it -comes, there steals over the earth the cool, refreshing -scent of dew-drenched bracken, mingling -with the sweet wistful evening incense of some -late honeysuckle.</p> - -<p>And as you watch the fading after-glow of -pink and saffron, sea-green and tawny-rose, you -sense that in some mysterious way the face of -the garden has entirely changed. Gone is the -fire of the scarlet geraniums; lost is the vermilion -of the nasturtiums; even the sunflowers -hang their heads, and the hollyhocks have turned -off their lights. The marigolds have closed their -eyes, and the eschscholtzias have folded up their -brave flowers, the tired little heads bowing over, -thankful for this respite.</p> - -<p>Then, as the montbretias toll the Angelus -from crowds of golden throated bells, the evening -primroses, silently, gratefully, open a thousand -blossoms and bathe the garden in a wondrous -gleam.</p> - -<p>Such a clear, clean yellow it is; so quiet and -yet so penetrating; it seems in some strange -way to hold the radiance of heaven and focus it -on the sleeping Flower-patch, subduing all that -would strike a glaring note, hiding the ragged -deficiencies of fading leaves and withering seed-pods.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span></p> - -<p>By day one scarcely noticed the straggling -plants at all, save perhaps to remark on their -rather shabby appearance. But now they shine -from terraces and wall-tops; from crannies in -the rough stone steps they send up tall shafts, -bearing aloft their evening lamps; about the -garden beds, among the currant bushes, at the -edge of the gravel walk, between the stones in -the paved path, wherever they can find root-room, -they have taken hold—for they were ever -wanderers, and given to exploring the farthermost -corner of any garden wherein they have -made themselves at home.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The last rose-pink flush has faded from the -clouds; not even a sleepy twitter is heard from -bush or bough; the wind soughs softly in the -pine-trees, those harps of endless strings. From -out her hidden stores of abundance, Nature -has given moisture to the grass, refreshment to -the fainting foxglove leaves, and damped the -forest fern. Then, breathing quiet on a weary -world, has bidden it take rest.</p> - -<p>Yet all are not asleep. Standing like -sentinels through the darkest hours of night, the -evening primroses, adding scent to scent, flood -the garden from end to end with a veritable -glory of swaying, gleaming moon-gold.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2>XVII<br /> - -<small>The Carillon of the -Wilds</small></h2> - - -<p class="unindent"><span class="smcap">Of</span> all the host of alluring things that make for -themselves homes on our hillside, one of the -most lovely is the foxglove. Yet there is no -blatancy about its beauty, nor a great blaze of -light as when the ox-eye daisies wave over the -fields in June.</p> - -<p>There is something more subtle than even -its colouring that attracts one to this flower, for -there is mind-rest, there is balm for anxious -hearts, there is new hope and new courage, with -whispers of happiness, in the depths of a foxglove -bell.</p> - -<p>If you doubt this, go on a foxglove quest; -leave everything bearing the hall-mark of -advanced up-to-dateness far behind you—though -I’ve nothing to say against the train that takes -you away from towns to the place where the -foxgloves grow! Forget all the regulation ways -of enjoying yourself, and search out the haunts -of the carillon of the wilds.</p> - -<p>You will find them on the shady sides of the -hedges, their spikes of bells pushing up through -hawthorn and sloe, through the tangle of bramble<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span> -and bryony, cleavers and dog rose that scramble -over the pollarded nut-bushes, beeches, elm-stumps, -and ash-boles, amid all the dear delights -that go to make that poem of loveliness—an -English hedgerow.</p> - -<p>You will also find them in little hollows and -dells, in small ravines and in craggy places—in -any spot where they can get a little moisture for -the roots and occasional sunshine for the flowers, -with a certain amount of immunity from the -devastating hand of the human marauder. Give -them but a ghost of a chance to seed themselves -(though this is what the greedy flower-gatherer -invariably denies them), and they will spread with -great rapidity, and paint the face of nature with -a rich glowing carmine that almost makes you -hold your breath when first you see the broad -sweeps of colour on certain hillsides in mid-June.</p> - -<p>When you have found them, in any of their -haunts, lift one of the bells and look right into -it, delighting in the splashes and markings, the -fine filaments and the silken texture, the pink -and purple and crimson, the dark brown and -white, the poise of the stalk, the droop of the -bells, the balance that the leaf-arrangement gives -to the whole plant, and the many other characteristics -that go to make up one of the most -exquisite of nature’s products.</p> - -<p>The trouble is that in sparse soil, or in wind-swept -places, the plant does not grow so tall as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span> -in a protected and secluded spot. Hence when -we meet it in the open, its bells hang downwards -below the eye-line, and we do not often remember -to stoop and lift one, to see what -message the bee left for us. Perhaps that is one -reason why it seems to me that, while sunflowers -and hollyhocks spend their days in gazing -after grown-ups, foxgloves are for ever nodding -smilingly and encouragingly to little children.</p> - -<p>To those who are accustomed to agricultural -scenery, where the landscape shows far expanses -of pasture-land and cornfields, with wide spreading -low-roofed farms clustered around with barns -and ricks, our hills come as a surprise with their -uneven surfaces, and the scarcity of soil in comparison -with the superabundance of rock.</p> - -<p>And even taking into consideration all the -cleared spaces and small farms, the outstanding -feature of the country, so far as the eye can see, -is timber. This is a region of woods and -coppices, with springs that bubble up at the -roots of sturdy trees, protected by their thick -leafage from the onslaughts of the sun. This is -a land of dim grey-green mystery, of silences -that make one tread with reverent awe till one -is brought back to earth, by the ring of the -woodman’s axe, the leisurely song of his saw, -and the crish-crash of a tree as it falls.</p> - -<p>In the course of time, the woods have to be -cut; some are cut every fourteen years; others<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span> -are left much longer; it all depends on the kind -of tree and the purpose for which it is being -grown.</p> - -<p>But though the woods are cut periodically, it -is not so devastating a process as one might -imagine. For one thing, it is clean work; for -another, it is surface work; and then it is all -done in the open air, with hand-tools and no -machinery, and it is carried out on nature’s own -lines. Hence there is no underground disturbance -that would prevent further growth, -and no smoke of power-driven machinery pollutes -the earth and air.</p> - -<p>Yet there would be something very pathetic -about the felling of the trees, as you walk over -ground that has been cut, were it not for the -magical display of beauty nature puts forth in -such circumstances, multitudes of flowers springing -into being that otherwise would not have -come to birth.</p> - -<p>At first you see but the prostrate trunks of -the trees, with ivy still clinging to the bark; -there they lie, with branches lopped, each surrounded -by piles of small timber cut into regulation -lengths for various commercial purposes; -with “cords” of faggots for firing, and stacks -of stuff for pea sticks and similar purposes.</p> - -<p>Yet you are not long wandering over the -newly-cleared slopes before you see things that -were not evident before.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span></p> - -<p>In winter you discover a red-gold carpet—too -golden to be brown, too brown to be red—where -lie the leaves of the beeches that you -never noticed when the trees were standing.</p> - -<p>Then, as spring breathes life into the sleeping -earth, the dead leaves stir, silently, mysteriously, -no human ear can detect the rustle, no human -eye can see the movement, yet the leaves lift -and move apart, disclosing the yellow and green, -and silvery-pink of the primrose buds.</p> - -<p>Still further the dead leaves lift, and the violets -look out, and then run all over the place. The -wind-flowers push up next, and before you -realize what has happened, the place is literally -dancing with them. Where did they all come -from?</p> - -<p>Last spring you went through this very wood -and saw only a few scattered about at wide -distances, where there chanced to be a filter of -light through the dense branches overhead. -Now the place is an open air ball-room of -curtesying sprites.</p> - -<p>Such are the wonderful ways of the woods!</p> - -<p>In sheltered spots where the cold winds -cannot reach, cushions of wood-sorrel unfurl -their pale-green leaves, and then send up, -cautiously and shyly, the fragile bells that look -as though a breath would blow them away. -The woodruff also sets to work, for there must -be beauty of odour as well as beauty of colour<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span> -and form, and something will be needed to take -the place of the violets when they go.</p> - -<p>By this time the bluebells are ready to come -out; but there is no shyness about these, sturdy -in their growth, no obstacle seems to hinder -them; up come the green spears, making their -own way through dead leaves and twigs and -moss and acorn cup, through thickets of low-lying -bramble, through carpets of close-growing -ivy; if a dead branch or a tree trunk lies in their -way, they peep out at one side, “Is there a -trifle of daylight here?” And up they come, -carpeting with blue the open spaces between the -huge masses of rock that lie pell-mell about the -surface; while the humble little ground-ivy lays -cool green fingers, and a little later its violet-blue -flowers, over the cream and silver of the -birches, the soft grey of the beeches, and the -rough bark of the oaks, where the felled trunks -lie among the up-springing grass, sensing for the -last time the coming of spring and summer on -the hillside.</p> - -<p>Then it is, when the bluebells have turned to -papery seed-pods, and the primroses have paled -away into space, that the foxgloves begin to -shake out their flowers and the hillside glows and -palpitates with colour. They flourish with a -joyous abandon that is positively infectious, and -makes one feel there is still much left to live for. -The way they suddenly appear when the trees are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span> -down—whole battalions of them—where only a -season before there were regiments of larches, or -thick woods of mixed timber, is really marvellous. -Undoubtedly the ground must be packed with -seed; more than this, there must always be -young seedlings coming up among the undergrowth -or in sheltered crevices where the larch -needles do not penetrate; for no sooner are the -trees cut than foxgloves start to spread their -leaves to the light, and by the following summer, -often before half the timber has been carried, -you find them by the thousand—and that is a -very low estimate—dotted all over the rough -land, and, with a host of ferns, trying to cover -up all that is maimed, and bare, and jagged, to -hide the scars where the mighty have fallen, to -give beauty for ashes in a very literal sense.</p> - -<p>Moreover, there seems an almost uncanny -intelligence in the way they adapt themselves to -their environment. You would think they knew -that the winds from the far-off Channel blow -strong at times, across these high open spaces; -for you find that they invariably place themselves -in the shelter of a big boulder, or settle -down in a little hollow with a protecting flank -of rockery, evidently conscious that their tall -stems would be lashed down flat if exposed to -the full force of the wind. Or you find them -growing, it may be, at the foot of a crumbling -gate post, or against an ivy-covered rock, or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span> -rows of them nestling close up to a lichen-covered -stone wall; and in this way their beauty -is enhanced by the background.</p> - -<p>And when they find themselves in an uncongenial -setting—springing up in the very centre -of a woodland path perhaps, or out in the open -where the woodmen have been lopping the -branches from a felled tree, and there is much -devastation to be covered over and atoned for—there -the foxglove lays its leaves as flat as -possible against the earth, so as to offer the least -inducement to the passer-by to injure it. And -though it still sends up its flowers as bravely as -it knows how, they are only a foot high, not the -five and six feet of the foxglove in the shelter. -Yet if it be possible, in the least bit possible, it -leans against the pile of faggots, or gently touches -the desolate trunk of what was once a majestic -old tree—and who dare say that the silent companionship -counts for nothing?</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>As I write this, in a year of the Awful War, -there are some who would tell me that foxgloves -will not find the people in food; while others -see no value in the larches apart from their -service as mine-props.</p> - -<p>Yet, while I would not under-estimate the -utilitarian worth of crops and timber, the age-old -truth is still insistent: Man cannot live by -bread alone.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span></p> - -<p>You may clear from the surface of the land -every plant that is not edible; you may fell -every tree that does not serve for telegraph pole -or pit wood; you may tabulate the food-productive -qualities of the whole earth, and serve it -out in a blue-book as literature for the people; -you may manufacture electricity till there is no -longer any night, and the mysteries of the twilight -and the moonlight and the starlight are lost -to us for ever; you may destroy the birds till -there isn’t one Glad-song left in the caterpillar-riddled -orchards and gardens; you may harness -the rivers and streams for mechanical purposes, -and drown the voices of the weir in the whirr of -wheels, till there isn’t an ounce of energy flowing -to waste throughout the length and breadth of -the country; you may turn all Nature into a -huge commercial enterprise that is the last word -in economics and efficient organization—and -what will be the result?</p> - -<p>Machines in place of souls!</p> - -<p>Germany strove to subserve everything to -her own materialistic ends, and the price of her -hideous and colossal crime is a world’s agony.</p> - -<p>Though this may seem but a parable, to some -the reading will be clear: Where there is no -vision, the people perish.</p> - -<hr class="full" /> -<div class="tnote"><div class="center"> -<b>Transcriber’s Notes:</b></div> - -<p>Obvious punctuation errors repaired.</p> - -<p>Page 112, “contribubution” changed to “contribution” (own literary contribution)</p> - -<p>Page 167, “away” changed to “way” (my way round)</p> - -<p>Page 178, “seach” changed to “search” (in search of you)</p> - -<p>Page 200, “aromati” changed to “aromatic” (its aromatic leaves)</p> - -<p>Page 244, “bric” changed to “brac” of “bric-à-brac”</p> -</div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Between the Larch-woods and the Weir, by -Flora Klickmann - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BETWEEN LARCH-WOODS AND WEIR *** - -***** This file should be named 51601-h.htm or 51601-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/6/0/51601/ - -Produced by Emmy, MFR and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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