148 WITH THE WOODLANDERS. 



CHAPTER VI. 



WHERE GRASS IS GREEN. 



A BRIGHT morning in the pleasant month of May 

 finds me in a moorland water-meadow, which I 

 have reached from the hills above it. On one 

 side runs the highroad, bordered by a few sleepy- 

 looking old-world farmhouses and one or two cot- 

 tages equally ancient. Pollard willows are dotted 

 along the line of the stream, which flows with 

 many a curve and abrupt turning; and from the 

 stream little rills branch off, to form finally a very 

 small pond, which is fringed round with rushes, 

 and lies close to the road. 



Here two children, a boy and a girl, are busy; 

 their school satchels are slung at their sides, and 

 they are enjoying themselves in the interval be- 



