is choice
country, show by their complaisant expressions the satisfaction they feel
with their surroundings. It is wonderful to lie in one of these sunny
pastures, when the buttercups have gilded the grass, and to watch the
motionless red and white cattle as they solemnly let the hours drift past
them. During a whole sunny afternoon, which I once spent in those pastoral
surroundings, I can scarcely remember the slightest movement taking place
among the somnolent herd. There was a gentle breeze that made waves in the
silky sea of grass and sometimes stirred the fresh green leaves of the
trees overhead. The birds were singing sweetly, and the distant tolling of
the cathedral bells at Carentan added a richness to the sounds of nature.
Imagine this scene repeated a thousand times in every direction and you
have a good idea of this strip of pastoral Normandy.

About four miles north of St Lo, the main road drops down into the pleasant
little village of Pont Hebert and then passes over the Vire where it flows
through a lovely vale. In either direction the brimming waters of the river
glide between brilliant green meadows, and as it winds away into the
distance, the trees become more and more blue and form a charming contrast
to the brighter colours near at hand.

To come across the peasants of this pretty country in the garb one so
frequently sees depicted as the usual dress of Normandy, it is necessary to
be there on a Sunday or some fete day. On such days the wonderful frilled
caps, that stand out for quite a foot above the head, are seen on every
peasant woman. They are always of the most elaborate designs, and it is
scarcely necessary to say that they are of a dazzling whiteness. The men
have their characteristic dark blue close-fitting coats and the
high-crowned cap that being worn on week days is much more frequently in
evidence than the remarkable creations worn by the womenfolk.

There is a long climb from Pont Hebert to St Lo but there are plenty of
pretty cottages scattered along the road, and these with crimson stonecrop
on the roofs and may and lilac blossoming in the gardens, are pictures that
prevent you from finding the way tedious. At last, from the considerable
height you have reached, St Lo, dominated by its great church, appears on a
hill scarcely a mile away. The old town, perched upon the flat surface of a
mass of rock with precipitous sides, has much the same position as
Domfront. But here we are shut i