; and out of heavy purple clouds, poured streams of flaming
light, as if bags loaded with gold dust had burst with their own weight.
Long sand flats gleamed red as coral with some low-growing sea plant;
and the backs of wind-blown leaves on bush and hedge were all dull
silver, under the shadows of racing clouds, that tore at thousand
horse-power speed over golden meadows. It was an extraordinary, but
thoroughly English effect; and isn't it sad, the grazing cows and sheep
we passed never once looked up or cared!

But the people--the charming peasants of Devon--cared. They looked up,
and smiled at their sky, as if it gave them good thoughts; and everyone
on foot or in wagon was so polite to us, flashing such kind looks from
beautiful eyes, that we had the sensation of tasting honey. It kept us
busy, returning the bows of the handsome, courteous people, and,
altogether, it was like a royal progress. Poor Apollo isn't used to such
treatment, out of Devonshire and Cornwall, I can tell you! He always
does his best to be considerate, yet he is often misunderstood, being
nothing but a motor-car, whom nobody loves! It was a joy to see merry
Devonshire children flinging themselves into our dust, as if it were
perfumed spray, and playing that they, too, were motor-cars. Such a nice
change after some counties where we had behaved beautifully without any
appreciation, to feel that for once we gave pleasure to some one, as we
passed in and out of their obscure little lives!

The wind was laden with the scent of honeysuckle, and the sweet, yellow
hay, which blew out of high-piled carts to twine like gold webbing on
flowery hedges and on the crimson hollyhocks that rose like straight,
tall flames against whitewashed walls.

Even the droves of sheep we met were more polite than non-Devonshire
sheep, for instead of blocking our way obstinately, keeping just in
front so that we could pass on neither side, they thoughtfully charged
into village inns and cottage gardens. But, of course, you can't expect
pink sheep to act like ordinary mutton-hood. These Devonshire creatures
look exactly like a lot of pink wool mats blowing away. Probably they
are "pixie led," for Devonshire simply swarms with pixies. If you are a
human being, and happen to put your stockings on wrong side out, they
get power over you at once. But I don't know what the trick is, if you
are a sheep.

We ran above a great ravine at Barnstaple, and the scene was so fine,
th