IV 



The Orchard 



I am willing to stretch a point and swear that the 

 nightingale sings in the orchard all through the 

 season, though I am afraid he gave his farewell 

 performance long ago. I have only once heard 

 him, and then he was a good quarter of a mile 

 away from the garden. 



Perhaps the art of the garden is offensive to 

 such a worshipper of Nature, or perhaps, like the 

 poets, he can best sing of beauty when it is hidden 



from him. 



The fact is that the nightingale never comes 

 to the orchard, and, indeed, it is beautiful enough 

 to stand in no need of romantic embellishment. 



We eat in the orchard : lunch and tea ; dinner 

 attracts too many insects to be possible or 

 pleasant. 



There is a green table and an old public-house 

 settle under the cherry tree at the end of the 

 privet hedge, where the della Robbia Madonna is 

 enshrined. 



67 



