A SEED IN WASTE PLACES 213 

 on Tuesday morning, should any blemish 

 in the make-up of the paper be discovered, 

 or any important item of news be missed. 

 Nevertheless, we loathed the Editor on 

 Saturdays, especially at evening. His face 

 grew whiter, and his despairful leer at our 

 non-success in obtaining some facts from 

 a West End flunkey whose mistress had that 

 morning lost a pearl necklace, or a reputa- 

 tion, was most exasperating for men with 

 tired feet and grit-filled eyes. 



That afternoon of August London was 

 more arid than ever. I looked with despair 

 for any sign of beauty, something that 

 could take my mind away from dinginess. 

 My mind was drouthy, and the roots of 

 calm thought were sapped. The blue sky 

 overhead made me miserable : I thought 

 of the waves lapping the sunlit sands of the 

 West Country that I knew so well. There 

 the gray stock-doves flew from the bushes 

 growing on the headland cliff sides, and 

 the lark's song was ever in the air. Here 



