THE UPLANDS IN WINTER 



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ponds and with clear cold weather, its dee[) mel- 

 low sound is pleasing. 



Short cuts are not always the shortest way, 

 for the longest way round is often the shortest 

 way home. I remember on a dark rainy ni^ht in 

 Eebruary, when pools of water stood in every 

 depression in the ice, I followed the old road for 

 most of the way, but took a short cut across a bit 

 of salt marsh. As I was striding along with my 

 ruck-sack on my back, I struck just below the knee 

 the single wire of a fence. The upper part of 

 my body kept on its way until it landed face 

 downward in an icy pool of water. But the 

 worst is yet to come I Before I could recover 

 from my discomfiture, my ruck-sack, which had 

 also kept on traveling, but was held within limits 

 by the straps, came down hard on my head. The 

 situation was so comical that it saved the day. 

 In future, however, I carefully avoided that wire. 



Another short cut was taken on a January day 

 in 1907, an unusually mild day for midwinter. 

 Frequent torrential rains had scoured the country 

 clean of snow except in the deep woods and in the 

 shelter of stone walls, where a few dwindling 



