WHEN MARCH WINDS BLOW. 113 



CHAPTER V. 



WHEN MARCH WINDS BLOW. 



CLOUD-SHADOWS flit rapidly over the slopes of a 

 long valley that runs the whole length of the 

 glorious top of one of our Surrey hills. From 

 one of the hill-roads that leads directly to London 

 town a rustic gate opens into the fir-wood. A 

 notice-board is fixed there, giving the strictest in- 

 junctions to keep to the narrow track in passing 

 through, on your way down to the long hollow 

 that looks like some huge railway cutting. The 

 banks and the track itself are covered with the 

 finest turf: they run through and over the very 

 crest of the hill, far away to woodlands in the 

 distance. Thorns and furze dot the slopes, here 

 and there mingled with brambles : there are not 



H 



