se.

It was the room of a boy, not of a girl; of a soldier, and not an
artist.

The girl in truth had the limitations of her qualities. She was so near
to Nature that she had no need for Art, and no understanding of it.

The room knew neither carpet, curtain, nor blind. The sun, the wind, and
not seldom the rain and snow were free of it. A small collapsible
camp-bed, a copper basin and jug, an old chest, a corner cupboard--these
constituted the furniture. The walls were whitewashed. Three of them
knew no pictures. On one was her hunting-crop, a cutting-whip, and a
pair of spurs; beneath them a boot-jack and three pairs of soft
riding-boots in various stages of wear. In the corner stood a
tandem-whip.

Above the mantelpiece was one of the plates in which Cannibal had run
the National, framing a photograph of the ugliest horse that ever won
at Aintree--and the biggest, to judge from the size of the plate.
Beneath it was a picture of the Good Shepherd and the Lost Sheep, and a
church almanac. On the mantelpiece were the photographs of her mother,
her father, Monkey Brand in the Putnam colours, and the Passion Play at
Oberammergau; while pinned above the clock was the one poem, other than
certain hymns and psalms, that Boy knew by heart.

It was called _Two on the Downs_, and had been written by Mr. Haggard,
when in the first vigour of youth he had come to take up his ministry in
Cuckmere thirty years since:

Two on the Downs

_Climb ho!
So we go
Up the hill to the sky,
Through the lane where the apple-blossoms blow
And the lovers pass us by.

Let them laugh at you and me,
Let them if they dare!
They're almost as bad maybe--
What do we care?

Halt ho!
On the brow!--
O, the world is wide!
And the wind and the waters blow and flow
In the sun on every side.

By the dew-pond windy-dark,
Take a gusty breath;
The gorse in glory,
The sunshine hoary
Upon the sea beneath._

_Swing ho!
Bowing go,
Breathless with laughter and song,
The wind in her wilful hair a-blow,
Swinging along, along.

She and