OUR COUNTRY LIFE 



ing leaves would linger upon them, the passing show 

 ers would discover small hollows, the snow and the frost 

 would crumble the edges; and I know that the squir 

 rels would soon find them convenient for their store of 

 acorns. At the far end of the entering path I would 

 erect a shrine. Why not? A shrine, for want of a 

 better name, supporting some lovely replica of Delia 

 Robbia's children, some quaint conceit suited to the 

 forest a dryad floating in the breeze, the ever youthful 

 spirit of the woodland. I know a genius who could 

 evolve just what is needed for this shaded nook. The 

 frame must be of big timbers with iron hoops inserted 

 for flowerpots, just as they have them in the Old World ; 

 the table-like base must include a cupboard for small 

 tools, a watering can, a store of nuts and birdseed, a 

 book, and even a tea-basket. 



On a lonely mountain-side in the Casentino where 

 St. Francis retreated to commune with Nature, where 

 he preached his sermons to the birds, and where now 

 his followers guard his relics, there are to be seen some 

 very wonderful reliefs by the Delia Robbias well 



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