324 FIELD AND HEDGEROW. 



and bluish shadows ; and beyond these was the uncertain 

 vale that had no individuality, but the trees put their 

 arms together and became one. All these were meadows, 

 every step was among grass, beautiful grass, and the 

 cuckoos sang as if they had found paradise. A hundred 

 years ago a little old man with silver buckles on his 

 shoes used to walk along this footpath once a week in 

 summer, taking his children over to drink milk at the 

 farm ; but though he set them every time to note the 

 number of fields, so busy were they with the nests and 

 the flowers, they could never be sure at the end of the 

 journey whether there were eight or nine. To make 

 quite sure at last, he took with them a pocket full of 

 apples, one of which was eaten in each field, and so they 

 came to know for certain that the number of meadows 

 was either eight or nine, I forget which ; and so you see 

 this great experiment did not fix the faith of mankind. 

 Like other great truths, it has grown dim, but it seems 

 strange to think how this little incident could have been 

 borne in mind for a century. There was another footpath 

 that led through the peewit field, where the green plovers 

 for evermore circle round in spring ; then past the 

 nightingale field, by the largest maple trees that grew in 

 that country ; this too was all grass. Another led along 

 the water to bluebell land ; another into the coombs 

 of the hills ; all meadows, which was the beauty of it ; 

 for though you could find wheat in plenty if you liked, 

 you always walked in grass. All round the compass 

 you could still step on sward. This is rare. Of one 

 other path I have a faded memory, like a silk marker in 

 an old book ; in truth, I don't want to remember it 

 except the end of it where it came down to the railway. 

 So full was the mind of romance in those days, that I 

 used to get there specially in time to see the express go 



