. Flower -de-Luce. 103 



Standing out from the belt of alders is a stalwart 

 ash-tree, wide of girth and broad of base, with roof of 

 feathery green that invites you to its shadow. Strong 

 stems of ivy cling about the grey old trunk ; round its 

 roots there gather in the soft, black earth reeds and 

 rushes and meadow-sweet, and all the plants that love 

 the moisture and the shade. 



Who sees it from the pathway only has not learned 

 the secret of the ancient tree. But the loiterer, who 

 follows the windings of the hedgerow, finds on the 

 farther side a spacious chamber, a great hollow hewn 

 by sun and rain. 



In a niche within its crumbling walls the flycatcher 

 makes her nest, the creeper hides her home behind 

 the tangle of the ivy, field-mice frolic in the lofty 

 hall. 



Other feet, perhaps, have left their traces on that 

 earthen floor. Faltering steps have crossed the 

 meadow to the well-remembered tree — a trysting- 

 place, that may have witnessed, in its time, scenes of 

 some village idyll j that may have watched, in the 

 scented air of twilight, for a white figure coming slowly 

 across the grass, scattering torn daisy petals as she 

 passed, and whispering softly to herself, ' He loves me, 

 loves me not.' 



Suddenly, out of the grass at your very feet, starts 

 up with plaintive cry a tiny bird — a tree-pipit — that 

 not long has left the nest, and makes what way he 

 can with wings and feet along the path in front. He 



