THE FAERY YEAR 



hazel are more crowded, and their stems thicker than 

 elsewhere. It is the hanging wood of the bird's- 

 nest orchid, of Solomon's seal, and herb Paris with 

 single berry now livid ripe. A lonely and alluring 

 place. To reach it, we leave the long woodland 

 ride, that mile of gleaming green, whose grey oak 

 trunks often wear a strange unsubstantial look after 

 sundown, and turn into one of the mere tracks 

 through the highwood. It is the special charm of 

 these tracks that they wind and wind so that one 

 can never see or be seen by any wild creature more 

 than a few yards ahead ; a charm undesigned, for 

 the track was made by woodmen going to and from 

 their work in the shoots ; it winds because the 

 men picked their way among the underwood stoles 

 these paths were never cut and stubbed like the 

 broad, straight rides. 



The quiet of the tracks that lead to the hanging 

 wood is enhanced by the moan of the wood-pigeons 

 and that deep, deep note of the stockdove, surely 

 the bass of all bird music. The quiet of secluded 

 places and of evenings of witchery is added to or 

 brought out by certain sounds ; the nightjar for me 

 enhances quiet, so does the sough of the wind now 

 and then in the larch tops. 



The badgers have lately dug out tons of clay, 

 chalk, and large flints, some of which weigh four or 

 five pounds. Three holes have fresh spoor, and 

 probably there is communication through the great 

 tunnels underground. Between the holes are two 

 oblong pits, like disused woodland sawpits, which 



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