PROSERPINE'S MESSAGE 237 

 it is only when summer is gone that the 

 wild beauty of spring apple bloom time is 

 yearned for. The goldfinches that now 

 flocked to the headland for the thistledown 

 brought with them a thought of blossom. 



For Proserpine has returned with a 

 child-god in her arms. The nuts in the lane 

 are ready for gathering, the blackberries 

 are luscious, and the partridge coveys have 

 been broken up many weeks. On the 

 ledges of their precipice colony the gulls 

 are no more, the swallows have followed 

 the sun. Many times have I searched the 

 flawless bell-flower of the sky for these 

 ragtailed vagrants, but not even one is to 

 be seen. I cannot understand it ; my heart 

 is heavy. Why have they gone so suddenly ? 

 The sun shines, and insects are plentiful. 

 Usually the hosts foregather on the single 

 telegraph wire that never ceases to hum 

 between the sun- bleached posts in the 

 sunken lane. This autumn there were no 

 preparations for the great southerly flight. 



