So THE SOUTH COUNTRY 



of old religions who were depicted as matrons, carrying 

 babes or fruit or flowers, to whom the peasant brought 

 thank-offerings when sun and rain had been kind. Those 

 at Kemsing, for example, stand worthily beside the 

 perfect grey-shingled spire, among elm and damson, 

 against the bare cloudy Down. And there are many 

 others near the Pilgrims' Way of the same charm. 



That road, in its winding course from Winchester to 

 Canterbury, through Hampshire, Surrey and Kent, sums 

 up all qualities of roads except those of the straight high- 

 way. It is a cart- way from farm to farm; or a footpath 

 only, or a sheaf of half-a-dozen footpaths worn side by 

 side; or, no longer needed except by the curious, it is 

 buried under nettle and burdock and barricaded by thorns 

 and traveller's joy and bryony bines; it has been cort- 

 verted into a white country road for a few miles of its 

 length, until an ascent over the Downs or a descent into 

 the valley has to be made, and then once more it is left 

 to footsteps upon grass and bird's foot trefoil or to rude 

 wheels over flints. Sometimes it is hidden among 

 untended hazels or among chalk banks topped with beech 

 and yew, and the kestrel plucks the chaffinch there 

 undisturbed. Or it goes free and hedgeless like a long 

 balcony half-way up the Downs, and unespied it beholds 

 half the South Country between ash tree boles. Church 

 and inn and farm and cottage and tramp's fire it passes 

 like a wandering wraith of road. Some one of the little 

 gods of the earth has kept it safe one of those little and 

 less than omnipotent gods who, neglecting all but their 

 own realms, enjoy the earth in narrow ways, delighting 

 to make small things fair, such as a group of trees, a 



