To Mountain Tarn 



a woman, grave, and concerned with their own life. 

 There was none of the curiosity at the intrusion 

 on a quiet scene which brings so many heads to 

 suburban windows. Save that single touch of 

 nature the woman's hand raised to straighten 

 her hair was no sign of notice. A wild sense of 

 good manners would have let us pass unobserved. 

 I have ever found it so in the best class of 

 nomads. A fire burned as though there might 

 be something to cook. 



On the far side of the lane a strange, roughly 

 sugar-loaf-shaped knoll lifted its head above the 

 glowing broom. One would have thought it a 

 rock standing out from the soil, save for certain 

 outward marks. Perforated, almost terraced with 

 holes, it resembled nothing so much as a gigantic 

 field-pigeon house. The rabbits were in posses- 

 sion, and made of it a teeming warren. 



It might have been coincidence, but so it was 

 that the niche in the lane which the instinct of 

 the nomads had sought out as the best shield 

 from the weather was just over against this 

 picturesque haunt of rodents. As they lay by 

 the creepies, while the shadows lengthened and 

 the yellow broom grew golden in the evening 

 light and grey twilight came, behold the dead 

 knoll came to life. Later on the white scuts, like 

 so many terrestrial glow-worms, lit up the dim- 

 ming lane. I know not certainly the connexion 

 between picturesque nomad and picturesque 



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