n8 OLD PLYMOUTH TRAILS 



By midnight the white genie of the sky had 

 stalked off beyond the horizon out of sight. The 

 moon that had been so great among them with its 

 rim touching the eastern hills that it was like a 

 great map of itself hung on the margining sky, 

 had concentrated to a ball of white light near the 

 zenith. Back in the wood I found -the invisible 

 little people out in full force, rustling, flitting and 

 calling. But the white light had gone and under 

 thick foliage of deciduous trees the real night had 

 come again, dappled, indeed, by flecks of filtered 

 moonlight which dazzled and made the shadows 

 more obscure. In the depths of the pines the ver- 

 itable darkness of Egypt smothered all sight. 

 Here the path must be found by the feet alone, 

 and it is singular what potency of understanding 

 thrills up from the good brown earth through the 

 boot-soles when it is needed. Every footpath is 

 a shallow canal through which you flow as does 

 water if you will but let it lead you. If the foot 

 fall but a little to the right or left of the wonted 

 spot some slight inequality of the earth that in 

 the full daylight would never reach your senses, 

 now sends definite messages to you. By it you 

 swing with certainty to the right or the left and 

 find the next footfall near enough within the nar- 



