IN THE WOODLAND 105 



The wood floor is distinctly moorland more so 

 even than that of the patches farther down. To 

 the waved hair grass has been added the ruder, 

 stiffer altogether less graceful mat grass. The 

 moorland shrubs, too, have been considerably in- 

 creased. In addition to the blaeberry, common 

 to all the woods, I can gather the rose and white 

 flower of the cowberry, and, here and there, the 

 purple vase of the crowberry. 



Quite a jubilant shout summons me to the back 

 of the wood, whither my companion has gone 

 foraging on his own account. I find him lying 

 all his length on the ground, gazing intently at 

 something. It is quite an unconscious tribute, and 

 all the more eloquent on that account, since he did 

 not know what he was looking at, only that it 

 was beautiful. 



Twining in and out among the shrubs are certain 

 pink branches, at first sight scarcely distinguish- 

 able from the blaeberry twigs, except from their 

 habit of running long distances along the ground, 

 instead of standing more or less erect in compact 

 bushes. Every here and there, from these re- 

 cumbent stems, rises a flower-stalk, suspending, 

 some half a foot in the air, and clear above 

 the blossoms of surrounding shrubs, two of the 



