62 WILD LIFE IN A SOUTHERN COUNTY. 



A broad green track runs for many a long, long- 

 mile across the downs, now following the ridges, now 

 winding past at the foot of a grassy slope, then stretch- 

 ing away through cornfield and fallow. It is distinct 

 from the wagon-tracks which cross it here and there, 

 for these are local only, and if traced up, land the 

 wayfarer presently in a maze of fields, or end abruptly 

 in the rickyard of a lone farmhouse. It is distinct 

 from the hard roads of modern construction which also 

 at wide intervals cross its course, dusty and glaringly 

 white in the sunshine. It is not a farm track : you 

 may walk for twenty miles along it over the hills ; 

 neither is it the king's highway. 



For seven long miles in one direction there is not 

 so much as a wayside tavern ; then the traveller finds 

 a little cottage, with a bench under a shady sycamore 

 and a trough for a thirsty horse, situate where three 

 such modern roads (also lonely enough) cross the old 

 green track. Far apart and far away from its course, 

 hidden among their ricks and trees, a few farmsteads 

 stand, and near them perhaps a shepherd's cottage : 

 otherwise it is an utter solitude, a vast desert of hill 

 and plain ; silent, too, save for the tinkle of a sheep- 

 bell, or, in the autumn, the moaning hum of a distant 

 thrashing-machine rising and falling on the wind. 



The origin of the track goes back into the dimmest 

 antiquity ; there is evidence that it was a military 

 road when the fierce Dane carried fire and slaughter 

 inland, leaving his " nailed bark " in the creeks of the 

 rivers, and before that when the Saxons, pushed up 



