182 THE OPEN AIR. 



dark hollow of the valley. At the first glance it 

 seems white, but presently faint prismatic colours 

 are discerned. 



Already as the summer changes into autumn there 

 are orange specks on the beeches in the copses, and 

 the firs will presently be leafless. Then those who 

 live in the farmsteads placed at long intervals begin 

 to prepare for the possibilities of the winter. There 

 must be a good store of fuel and provisions, for it 

 will be difficult to go down to the villages. The 

 ladies had best add as many new volumes as they 

 can to the bookshelf, for they may be practically 

 imprisoned for weeks together. Wind and rain are 

 very different here from what they are where the 

 bulwark of the houses shelters one side of the street, 

 or the thick hedge protects half the road. The fury 

 of the storm is unchecked, and nothing can keep out 

 the raindrops which come with the velocity of shot. 

 If snow falls, as it does frequently, it does not need 

 much to obscure the path ; at all times the path is 

 merely a track, and the ruts worn down to the white 

 chalk and the white snow confuse the eyes. Flecks 

 of snow catch against the bunches of grass, against 

 the furze-bushes, and boulders ; if there is a ploughed 

 field, against every clod, and the result is bewildering. 

 There is nothing to guide the steps, nothing to give 

 the general direction, and once off the track, unless 

 well accustomed to the district, the traveller may 

 wander in vain. After a few inches have fallen the 

 roads are usually blocked, for all the flakes on miles 

 of hills are swept along and deposited into hollows 

 where the highways run. To be dug out now and 



