THE CHANGING YEAR 183 



original occupiers to drive them out, insist on 

 prolonging their stay till twilight, when they 

 cautiously withdrew to their accustomed feeding- 

 places. 



In the middle of November, when, in the 

 sheltered valley, the leaves of the oaks had 

 changed from green to yellow but not as yet to 

 brown, and when on the ash-trees the sere seed- 

 clusters still clung to the slender twigs, came the 

 first heavy snowstorm of the year, and for hours 

 the landscape was veiled by the close-drifting 

 flakes. In the afternoon the storm ceased, the air 

 became colder and still colder, and silence brooded 

 over the fields. At evening, across the blue and 

 yellow sky floated round grey clouds, their edges 

 touched with pink, the crescent moon hung pale 

 and lifeless above the hill, and the wide expanse 

 of gleaming snow reflected the hues of the 

 heavens. The glassy brook-pools down among 

 the rime-fringed reeds also mirrored, but more 

 clearly than the crystalled snow, the colours of 

 the dome. As the splendour of the early winter 

 sunset brightened, and glowed like liquid fire, 

 then faded, and was succeeded by a cold white 

 mist moving slowly along the western hills 

 beneath the dark indigo roof of night, the deep 

 silence was broken by the loud carols of the 

 robins, the hoarse notes of a carrion crow, the 

 frequent cawing of rooks on their way to the 



