POMORUM PATRONA 203 



held new joys, new songs, new meanings. The 

 cryptic writing of old gnarled boughs ; the teeming 

 branch and apple-lighted grass; the scent and sun- 

 shine ; and the drone and glitter of winged insects 

 all these circumstances, so obvious to a child, now 

 hinted mystery, held for me secrets whose solu- 

 tions are hid down deep at the heartstrings of the 

 Mother. 



1 stood and pictured myself again through the 

 avenues of many Autumns ; and the span seemed 

 short enough, capable of compression to a mere link 

 in time. I could understand the little child still, 

 feel his heart beat faster at sight of the boisterous, 

 blue-eyed sheep-dog, who stood as high as his 

 shoulder, share his pride at withstanding the great 

 beast's riotous greeting, sympathise with the small 

 hand that reached for high-hung nut or blackberry in 

 vain. I remembered the little thing's awe in presence 

 of an ancient gaffer the Ladon of that orchard ; his 

 increased comfort on such days as other work called 

 old Ladon further afield and left him, the child, in 

 sole company of that ripening fruit. 



No Hesperides brightened this autumn evening 

 under the apple trees, but a woman there was an 

 ancient woman, clad in the colours of earth who 

 moved very slowly among them. Once she had been 

 of good stature, but now was bent somewhat under 

 pressure of much time ; yet her passage was majestic 

 if only by its great deliberation. She handled a rake, 

 and with slow and thoughtful movements drew the 



