OF TO-NIGHT 23 



country, whose silence is made up of a multitude 

 of little noises. Distinct above the rest was the 

 coo of a pigeon from the clump on the flank of 

 the Beacon Down. A cow mooed. The starlings 

 rustled in the thatch above our heads. Some- 

 where a nightjar sprung its stealthy rattle, and 

 a river bird called once. And four miles away 

 at the station the trains whistled and rolled and 

 puffed, the sound coming loud, caught by the 

 funnel which is this valley, across whose mouth 

 from N.E. to S.W. the railway line runs. Let it 

 run! 



And the air, dear God ! it seemed to fill one's 

 whole body. We could not drink enough of it. 



This is a good place. It always was. But it is 

 better now. 



