12 RUSTIC SOUNDS 



up from the distant water. But the best was when 

 the empty bucket went down, and the fly-wheel 

 spun round till its spokes were invisible. Then 

 was the time to remember the death of a dog 

 (called Dick) who was killed by jumping through 

 the flying wheel. I envied my elder brothers who 

 could actually remember Dick : to me he was only a 

 tragic myth. I imagine that in hot dry weather 

 more water was drawn, or else that being more 

 constantly out of doors we heard more of it. It is 

 at least certain that the sound of the well came to 

 be associated with peaceful days and happy 

 weather in that dear garden. 



Another sound I like to recall is connected 

 with the memory of my father. He daily took a 

 certain number of turns round a little wood planted 

 by himself, and christened the Sandwalk. As he 

 paced round it he struck his heavy iron-shod 

 walking-stick against the ground, and its rhyth- 

 mical click became a familiar sound that spoke of 

 his presence near us, and was associated with his 

 constant sympathy in our pursuits. It is a sound 

 that seems to me to have lasted all those years that 

 stretch from misty childish days until his death. 

 I am sure that all his children loved that sound. 



February, 1912. 



