THE BLUEBELL WOOD 



with his back to the cottage which had been built out 

 of the remains of the old stone lodge by a gentleman of 

 the name of Bellington, who was afterwards found 

 drowned in the lake. That lake held many secrets, 

 indeed, some said (the woodcutter's wife told me this) 

 it held Lady Perpetua's jewels. That did not con- 

 cern me, for it held for me the finer jewels of Water 

 Lilies that grew there in profusion, though I will not 

 deny that the idea of Lady Perpetua gave an added 

 touch of romance. How often had the clear water ol 

 the lake reflected her satin-clad figure and the forms of 

 her little toy spaniels ? 



It so happening, I sat by the Stone Dog, on a wooden 

 seat, to eat my lunch one day, and dropped into con- 

 versation with him, after a bite or two, in the most 

 natural way in the world. 



There was the wood in front of us, blue-purple with 

 wild Hyacinths. There was the old cottage behind 

 clothed with rambling Creepers ; a carpet of smooth 

 rabbit-worn grass at our feet ; a profusion of Prim- 

 roses, Wind Flowers, and budding trees before our 

 eyes. There was also the enchanting hum of wild bees 

 (like those wild bees Horace knew, that sought the 

 mountain of Matinus in Calabria, and there " laboriously 

 gathered the grateful thyme ") to soothe us in our 

 solitude. 



I addressed him then, " Stone Dog," I said, " this 

 is a very beautiful wood. Nature, laughing at the 

 ghosts of the Bois family, steel-clad, periwigged, or 

 patched, has reclaimed her own." 



The dog answered me never a word but kept his gaze 

 fixed in front of him as if he saw visions in the wood. 



" This was a Park once," said I, " the pleasure- 

 ground of great folk, where they might sport in play- 

 ful dalliance " — I thought that sounded rather Jacobean, 



3? 



