the bucketful. I revelled in it, and in the
sombre scenery, where sharp rocks stood out like bones through the
tattered green coats of soldier-mountains. All the world was gray or
gray-green, save for a patch of purple heather here and there, like the
stain of a new wound.

We were under Cadir Idris, mounting the pass high above a deep ravine;
yet the blowing rain hid the mountain from our eyes as if he were the
veiled prophet. The sound of the wind, which seemed to come from all
quarters at once, was like the mysterious music of a great AEolian harp,
as it mingled with the song of ghostly cascades that veined the dark
rocks with marble. Mountain sheep sprang from crag to crag as Apollo
rounded a corner and broke into their tranquil lives, now and then
loosening a stone as they jumped. One good-sized rock would have bounced
down on the roof of our car if Sir Lionel hadn't seen it coming, and put
on such a spurt of speed that Apollo leaped ahead of the danger. But he
always does see things in time. You wouldn't think sheep could have as
much expression as those sheep had, when they saw us and weren't sure
which way to run. Of course they needn't have run at all; but whichever
way they decided, it was certain to be wrong!

I was sorry to leave that pass behind, and have its door shut after us,
for we came out into a pastoral landscape, where the only wild things
were the grazing black cattle. It was charming country, though; and in
less than a mile we had reached a famous spot known as the Tourist Walk.
The rain was pelting down harder than ever, so we could not get out and
take the walk; but soon after we had abandoned it the deluge suddenly
turned from lead to a thick spray of diamonds, mixed with sparkling
gold-dust. Our road glittered ahead of us like a wide silver ribbon
unrolled, as we sailed into the little gray town of Dolgelly on its
torrent river; and beyond, in a fresh-washed radiance of sunlight, the
way was one long enchantment, the sweet world of green hills and musical
waters looking as young as if God had made it that day. The graceful
mountains which pressed round the valley had the air of waiting each her
turn to stoop and drink a life-giving draught from the river, which, as
we neared Barmouth, opened to the sea, gleaming like a vast sheet of
quicksilver. Further on, travelling through woods where young green
trees shot up from gilded rocks, glimpses of the estuary came to us like
a vision of some Ita