Collapse 
where there were a few Steel-blue dragon-flies, 
moorfowl now and then started out. The rushes 
clustered thick along the opposite bank; on the 
nearer side grasses stood tall—around alders and 
withies, while “‘ skater’”’ inseéts darted to and 
fro on the placid water. Here and there men 
and boys were fishing; there were a few men in 
khaki in boats, a few on the bank, and not 
many other people. But, as I caught the snatches 
of talk, and saw the signs of interest in the passing 
show of life, I felt that it was all as it should be. 
My uncle lay dying: he was going through his 
Stage, even as these younger people were going 
through theirs and I through mine: and each, 
taking the stage that came, was doing well. 
For a time I forgot the war, or, rather, was 
able to see it as but a passing incident in this 
larger, this perennial business of living and then 
dying. From the railway platform, while waiting 
for my train, I watched a distant ridge of the 
Fox Hills—the heath on them a very rich velvety 
green in the glowing evening sunlight. So 
silent, those hills looked; so enduring; so 
antique. And presently I was feeling how they 
might be standing there just so, thousands of 
years hence, when perhaps this bustle of English 
life has vanished clean away and left them alone 
again. And that too seemed part of a Pro- 
gramme... . 
165 
