CHILDREN OF EARTH 197 



dull, simple mound raised up out of the earth. The 

 one other house is not so high; nor has it eyes; nor do 

 an old man and a girl and two children go in and out of 

 it; it is, in fact, not a house of the living, but of the dead, 

 a round tumulus at the edge of the hill. 



The grey mound of the dead and the grey house of the 

 living are at their best in the midst of winter and in the 

 midst of summer. Standing upon the tumulus in 

 the north-west wind, the cottage could he seen huddled 

 under the lashing trees. Many a thousand beech-trees 

 on the steep slopes below gave out a roar, and it was a 

 majestic position to be up there, seeing and feeling that 

 the strong wind was scouring the world with a stream 

 miles deep and miles wide. Far underneath, two beechen 

 promontories with bald white brows projected into the 

 vast valley; not really much lower than the hill of the 

 tumulus, but seeming so in that more than Amazonian 

 stream of air. Beyond these promontories the broad land 

 was washed bright and clear. Nearer at hand the thrice 

 cleaned traveller's-joy was as silken foam surging upon 

 the surface of black yews and olive hazels. The kestrel 

 swayed and lunged in his flight. Branches gleamed, hard 

 and nervously moving. Rain-pools glittered, and each 

 brittle stem and flower of a dead plant, each grass-blade 

 and brown lock of beech or oak-leaf, gave out its little 

 noise to join the oceanic murmur of the earth. Now 

 and then a dead leaf took flight, rose high and went out 

 over the valley till it was invisible, never descending, in 

 search of the moon. Near the horizon a loose white 

 drift went rapidly just over the summits of the highest 

 woods; but in the upper air were the finest flowers of the 

 wind — hard white flowers of cloud, flowers and mad 



