s
made of convolvulus then, nothing but convolvulus; nowhere else does the
flower flourish so strongly, and the bines remain till the following
spring. This little orchard, without a path through it, without a
border, or a parterre, or a terrace, is a place to sit down and dream
in, notwithstanding that it touches the road, for thus left to itself it
has acquired an atmosphere of peace and stillness such as belongs to and
grows up in woods and far-away coombs of the hills. A stray passer-by
would go on without even noticing it, it is so commonplace and
unpretentious, merely a corner of meadow irregularly dotted with
apple-trees; a place that needs frequent glances and a dreamy mood to
understand as the birds understand it. They are always here, even in the
winter, starlings and blackbirds particularly, who resort to a kind of
furrow there, which, even in frost, seems to afford them some food. In
the spring thrushes move along, rustling the fallen leaves as they
search behind the arum-sheaths unrolling beside the palings, or under
the shelter of the group of trees where arum-roots are plentiful. There
are nooks and corners from which shy creatures can steal out from the
shadow and be happy. The dew falls softly, more noiseless than snow, and
a star shines to the north over the spruce fir. By day there is a
loving streak of sunshine somewhere among the tree-trunks; by night a
star above. The trees are nothing to speak of in size or height, but
they seem always to bloom well and to be fruitful; tree-climbers run up
these and then go off to the elms.

Beside the Long Ditton road, up the gentle incline on the left side, the
broad sward is broken by thickets and brake like those of a forest. If a
forest were cleared, as those in America are swept away before the axe,
but a line of underwood left beside the highway, the result would be
much the same as may be seen here when the bushes and fern are in
perfection. Thick hawthorn bushes stand at unequal distances surrounded
with brake; one with a young oak in the centre. Fern extends from one
thicket to the other, and brambles fence the thorns, which are
themselves well around. From such coverts the boar was started in old
English days, the fawns hide behind and about them even now in many a
fair park, and where there are no deer they are frequented by hares. So
near the dust which settles on them as the wheels raise it, of course,
every dog that passes runs through, and no game