VII 
FOOTPATHS 
Wo cares whither a footpath leads? The 
charm is in the path itself, its promise of some- 
thing that the high-road cannot yield. Away 
from habitations, you know that the fisherman, 
the geologist, the botanist may have been there, 
or that the cows have been driven home, and 
that somewhere there are bars and a milk-pail. 
Even in the midst of houses the path suggests 
school-children with their luncheon baskets, or 
workmen seeking eagerly the noonday interval 
or the twilight rest. A footpath cannot be 
quite spoiled, so long as it remains such; you 
can make a road a mere avenue for fast horses 
or showy women, but this humbler track keeps 
its simplicity, and if a queen comes walking 
through it, she comes but as a village maid. 
A footpath has its own character, while that of 
the high-road is imposed upon it by those who 
dwell beside it or pass over it; indeed, roads 
become picturesque only when they are called 
lanes and make believe that they are but paths. 
The very irregularity of a footpath makes 
