'94 '^^^^ Amateur Poacher 



brooks, past woods, through farmyard and rick * bar- 

 ken.' But such tracks are not mapped, and a stranger 

 misses them altogether unless under the guidance of 

 an old inhabitant. 



At Sarsen the dusty road enters the more modern 

 part of the village at once, where the broad signs 

 hang from the taverns at the crossways and where the 

 loafers steadily gaze at the new comer. The Lower 

 Path, after stile and hedge and elm, and grass that 

 glows with golden buttercups, quietly leaves the side 

 of the double mounds and goes straight through the 

 orchards. There are fewer flowers under the trees, 

 and the grass grows so long and rank that it 

 has already fallen aslant of its own weight. It is 

 choked, too, by masses of clogweed, that springs up 

 profusely over the site of old foundations ; so that 

 here ancient masonry may be hidden under the earth. 

 Indeed, these orchards are a survival from the days 

 when the monks laboured in vineyard and garden, and 

 mayhap even of earlier times. When once a locality 

 has got into the habit of growing a certain crop it 

 continues to produce it for century after century ; and 

 thus there are villages famous for apple or pear or 

 cherry, while the district at large is not at all given 

 to such culture. 



The trunks of the trees succeed each other in 



