A NIGHT CALL 113 



which I keep ready for such calls. We hastily 

 don light overcoats, for the night air is cool and 

 damp, and with a lift of the reins we whirl round 

 the corner and plunge into the blackness of the 

 summer night. 



Above we can see the stars and the faint light 

 of the Milky Way. On either side the opaque 

 blackness of the forest trees shuts out all light. 

 There has been a shower in the early night, and 

 the earth reeks with dampness and sweet and 

 pungent smells. 



From above comes the faint cheep of a passing 

 night-bird. A sudden drone as a night beetle 

 blindly blunders past makes one dodge instinc- 

 tively. From the wet trees and damp places the 

 trills of the tree-frogs and the peculiarly sleepy 

 cry of the toads, a soft croak with a falling in- 

 flection, remind one of returning in a boat from 

 an evening swim on a hot night in July. 



The night is full of faint and drowsy noises, 

 vague smells, eerie thoughts. But for the rapid 

 clop, clop, clop of Polly's feet, the whirring of 

 the wheels and the creak of the whiffle-tree, 

 which needs oil, we might think ourselves in elf- 

 land. We can almost hear " the horns of Elfland 

 faintly blowing." But Polly is practical and 

 knows her business. She is troubled with no 

 fancies. Clop, clop, clop, she goes, with her ears 

 pointing forward in the darkness. 



