xvi PROLOGUE 



with cool moss- scented ciirs from, deep wet 

 glades where toadstools groiv. Here surely 

 there is peace untouched and still sequestered. 

 Look up ... / A red ball falls beyond the 

 wood edge. The signed lights flash out — they 

 are moving fast. . . . The air is vibrant 

 with their deep-toned humming. . . . Our 

 bombing planes flock home, their night's 

 work do7ie. 



Now in my billet the lamp is lit, the 

 curtains are close drawn. Before me on the 

 table lie some sheets of pencilled foolscap that 

 should have been the Preface to this hook. I 

 took some trouble with those pencil notes ! 

 Their vein was light — nay, almost jocular. 

 They seemed to me a fitting Apologia — 

 indeed, quite charming in their dainty touch 

 on fishing days and fairies in " a legend- 

 crusted land.'' 



To-night there's starlight on the ghost- 

 towns ! Still they lie, like grey hones 



m 



