THE SUN BEHIND 15 



of the flower-beds, and the rime-decorated lawn 

 shine as though with an internal brilliance. They 

 are brighter than the sky, if we can call the mist 

 that puts the tops of the nearest trees out of sight 

 the sky. It is as though each thing on the ground 

 were under its special tube, giving it a glimpse of 

 the sun that is hidden from us. 



The fog this morning has gone further than that. 

 I step out from the lighted house into a day of 

 night. What is it that makes a fog, though less 

 obscure than a really dark night, more bewildering ? 

 I suppose it is that each ray that struggles through 

 has been zig-zagged and twisted so that it cannot 

 tell the truth about that on which it lights. Things 

 seen are distorted in size and shape and, as it were, 

 the things unseen are also distorted. We cannot 

 take any of them for granted as we can in the dark. 

 The things beyond the foreground, however familiar 

 they may have been, may not be there, or they 

 may be something quite different from what used 

 to be there. ' In fact, I expect that if we could take 

 the scientific bearing of the wych elm that by day- 

 light is due north of the garden gate, it would be 

 found to be a point to the east or west when seen 

 through the fog. Its dimensions and apparent 

 distance are undoubtedly new ones. 



I grope down the path to where the bird-table is 

 when it is light, though I can see none of its detail 

 this morning. The birds, however, have found it, 

 as a very strange phenomenon testifies. I can see 

 the pieces of white bread I have thrown on the lawn, 



