184 IN BERKSHIRE FIELDS 



foxglove plant and touch its trumpet with my fin- 

 gers. No probably not. Undoubtedly not, I de- 

 cide as I reach the clearing. By the time I set foot 

 on the road, and almost immediately am forced to 

 dodge a powerful touring-car which snapped and 

 coughed like the rushing symbol of wealth and 

 power, nothing seems to me so simple as it did. I 

 want once more the consoling whisper of my breeze- 

 touched hemlocks. Of course, we shall, we must, 

 put aside our selfishness and take our soul's best into 

 the world's affairs. But the battle is still long 

 ahead, the vision uncertain, and the best we cling 

 to now is the purity and elevation of our motives 

 in the immediate war at hand. That, after all, is 

 a great step forward in the sorry story of men's 

 strife with their brothers. 



August, 1918. 



