SUMMER IN SOMERSET. 281 



work in this meadow : the original scene from which he 

 took his picture of The Plough is not far distant. The 

 painter is gone ; the grasses and the flowers are renewed 

 with the summer. As I stood by the brook a water-rat 

 came swimming, drawing a large dock-leaf in his mouth ; 

 seeing me, he dived, and took the leaf with him under 

 water. 



Everywhere wild strawberries were flowering on the 

 banks — wild strawberries have been found ripe in 

 January here ; everywhere ferns were thickening and 

 extending, foxgloves opening their bells. Another deep 

 coombe led me into the mountainous Quantocks, far 

 below the heather, deep beside another trickling stream. 

 In this land the sound of running water is perpetual, the 

 red flat stones are resonant, and the speed of the stream 

 draws forth music like quick fingers on the keys ; the 

 sound of running water and the pleading voice of the 

 willow-wren are always heard in summer. Among the 

 oaks growing on the steep hill-side the willow-wrens 

 repeated their sweet prayer ; the water as it ran now 

 rose and now fell ; there was a louder note as a little 

 stone was carried over a fall. The shadow came slowly 

 out from the oak-grown side of the coombe, it reached 

 to the margin of the brook. Under the oaks there ap- 

 pears nothing but red stones, as if the trees were rooted 

 in them ; under the boughs probably the grass does not 

 cover the rock as it does on the opposite side. There 

 mountain-ashes flowered in loose order on the green 

 slope. Redstarts perched on them, darting out to seize 

 passing insects. Still deeper in the coombe the oaks 

 stood on either side of the stream ; it was the beginning 

 of woods which reach for miles, in which occasionally 

 the wild red deer wander, and drink at the clear waters. 

 By now the shadow of the western hill-top had crossed 



