94 FRESH FIELDS 



he would slide off into a lie as if the track in that 

 direction was always greased. Indeed, there was 

 a kind of fluent, unctuous, obsequious effrontery in 

 all he said and did. As the day was warm for that 

 climate, he soon grew tired of the chase. At one 

 point we skirted the grounds of a large house, as 

 thickly planted with trees and shrubs as a forest; 

 many birds were singing there, and for a moment 

 my guide made me believe that among them he 

 recognized the notes of the nightingale. Failing in 

 this, he coolly assured me that the swallow that 

 skimmed along the road in front of us was the night- 

 ingale! We presently left the highway and took 

 a footpath. It led along the margin of a large 

 plowed field, shut in by rows of noble trees, the 

 soil of which looked as if it might have been a 

 garden of untold generations. Then the path led 

 through a wicket, and down the side of a wooded 

 hill to a large stream and to the hamlet of Easing. 

 A boy fishing said indifferently that he had heard 

 nightingales there that morning. He had caught 

 a little fish which he said was a gudgeon. "Yes," 

 said my companion in response to a remark of mine, 

 "they's little; but you can eat they if they is 

 little." Then we went toward Shackerford church. 

 The road, like most roads in the south of England, 

 was a deep trench. The banks on either side rose 

 fifteen feet, covered with ivy, moss, wild flowers, 

 and the roots of trees. England's best defense 

 against an invading foe is her sunken roads. Whole 

 armies might be ambushed in these trenches, while 



