224 THE OPEN AIR. 



overhead, then to the right, then to the left, and 

 then back again, till at last lost in the coming shower. 

 After they have thus vibrated to and fro long enough, 

 like a pendulum coming to rest, they will alight in 

 the open field on the ridge behind. There in drilled 

 ranks, well closed together, all facing the same way, 

 they will stand for hours. Let us go also and let 

 the shower conceal them. Another time my path 

 leads over the hills. 



It is afternoon, which in winter is evening. The 

 sward of the down is dry under foot, but hard, and 

 does not lift the instep with the springy feel of 

 summer. The sky is gone, it is not clouded, it is 

 swathed in gloom. Upwards the still air thickens, 

 and there is no arch or vault of heaven. Formless 

 and vague, it seems some vast shadow descending. 

 The sun has disappeared, and the light there still 

 is, is left in the atmosphere enclosed by the gloomy 

 mist as pools are left by a receding tide. Through 

 the sand the water slips, and through the mist the 

 light glides away. Nearer comes the formless 

 shadow, and the visible earth grows smaller. The 

 path has faded, and there are no means on the open 

 downs of knowing whether the direction pursued is 

 right or wrong, till a boulder (which is a landmark) 

 is perceived. Thence the way is down the slope, 

 the last and limit of the hills there. It is a rough 

 descent, the paths worn by sheep may at any moment 

 cause a stumble. At the foot is a waggon-track 

 beside a low hedge, enclosing the first arable field. 

 The hedge is a guide, but the ruts are deep, and it 

 still needs slow and careful walking. Wee-ah- 



