The Country Flavour 
discomforts of earlier days. Better than his grog 
this pleased him. Indeed, save for the feeling of 
company, he was not much of a one for grog; 
nor yet could he smoke; but he delighted to sit 
and let the old memories trickle out of him. 
And, though he didn’t at all intend it, being no 
grumbler, his memories did often suggest hard 
weather. Unawares the hints dropped from him ; 
he didn’t mean it, but couldn’t help it. Still 
less could he help the additions with which my 
own imagination eked out what he told. 
As an example—in fireside chatter about the 
turnpike roads he mentioned a series of clumps 
of fir trees by the wayside—by Laffan’s Plain, I 
think. And he told how those trees had been 
planted there to indicate the road in the event of 
deep snow. No doubt in memory he visualised 
the very district. But he didn’t describe it. It 
was my own fancy that furnished a wide snow 
scene, a desolate country, a track doubtfully 
marked out by dark tree-tops just high enough 
to show a line of inky blots across the white 
waste. John Smith, however, must have seen 
something of this sort with his own eyes. 
Another time it was not snow but pitiless winter 
rains that had to be thought of to explain the 
objects of his dreamy memories. He was telling 
of one Smithers, who drove the mail-cart from 
Bagshot to Farnborough, calling on his way at 
at 
