206 More Tales of the Birds 



before the fire, where the kettle was singing an 

 invitation to tea. She too was ready to welcome 

 the slow and gentle ways of the country, and 

 to be rid of perpetual bell-ringing, and postmen's 

 knocks, and piano-practising next door, and the 

 rattle of carts and cabs ; but I doubt if the 

 rowans would have decided her choice. I think 

 she thought more of the useful fruits of the 

 garden of the currants and gooseberries of 

 which good store of jam should be made in the 

 summer, of the vegetables they would grow for 

 themselves, and the strawberries they would 

 invite their London friends to come and share. 

 Next morning quite early the Poet threw his 

 window wide open and looked out into his 

 garden. It was not a trim and commonplace 

 garden ; it was an acre of good ground that 

 had grown by degrees into a garden, as in the 

 course of ages of village life one owner after 

 another had turned it to his own purposes. The 

 poet looked over a bit of lawn, in the corner 

 of which stood one of his favourite rowans, to 

 an old bulging stone wall, buttressed up with 

 supports of red brick of various shades, and 



