208 Wild Life ina Southern County. 
The brewhouse, humble though its object may be, 
is not without its claim to admiration. It is open 
from the floor to the rafters of the roof, and that roof 
in its pitch, the craft of the woodwork, the dull polish 
of the old oak, has an interest far surpassing the dead 
staring level of flat lath and plaster. Noble work- 
manship in wood may be found, too, in some of the 
ancient barns; sometimes the beams are of black oak, 
in others of chestnut. 
In these modern days men have lost the pleasures 
of the orchard; yet an old-fashioned orchard is the 
most delicious of places wherein to idle away the 
afternoon of a hazy autumn day, when the sun seems 
to shine with a soft slumberous warmth without glare, 
as if the rays came through an aerial spider’s web 
spun across the sky, letting all the beauty, but not the 
heat, slip through its invisible meshes. There is a 
shadowy coolness in the recesses under the trees. On 
the damson trunks are yellowish crystalline knobs of 
gum which has exuded from the bark. Now and 
then a leaf rustles to the ground, and at longer inter- 
vals an apple falls with a decided thump. It is silent 
save for the gentle twittering of the swallows on the 
topmost branches—they are talking of their coming 
journey—and perhaps occasionally the distant echo 
of a shot where the lead has gone whistling among a 
covey. It is a place to dream in, bringing with you 
a chair to sit on—for it will be freer from insects than 
the garden seat—-and a book. Put away all thought 
