An Old Rambling House. 183 



colour through the diamonds sometimes in the sun, 

 more especially evening sun, like a magical circle or 

 world of circles, or rainbows within rainbows, and star- 

 lights intermingling. 



That old rambling house, with its dovecote high up 

 in the gabled end, was an unceasing delight to us ; and 

 how these pigeons sat in session sunning themselves 

 on the roof, as if to challenge our admiration, pouting 

 and bowing, yet expecting nothing but silent admira- 

 tion from us strangers — vain things ! But they showed 

 a very different temper when their mistress, who fed 

 them, appeared. They looked, indeed, as though to 

 them she was the impersonation of Providence, as 

 truly she was, and would sometimes perch upon her 

 shoulders, head, and even her hands, coo-coo-cooing 

 out her praises. 



And then the orchard of which we had the freedom. 

 To sit there in the warm afternoons in the cool shady 

 summer-house, and watch the shadows slowly moving 

 round the dial, every now and then to hear the ripened 

 fruit drop on the grass with a slight thud, and to see 

 the little mice come running out and make the faintest 

 rustling noise among the pea-straw, now stripped from 

 the stacks and laid on the ground. 



A very favourite excursion we made then was to an 

 ancient abbey not far off, where in old days the monks 

 lived their life, and no doubt attended well to the wants 

 of the body, while they strove to save the souls of others 

 as well as their own. On almost every field on this 

 farm there were fish-ponds, some of which had been 

 artificially made. These ponds were still rich in tench 

 and roach and other fishes ; and one of the ponds was 

 really a moat round an island fed from a small stream 

 some distance off. There were little rustic bridges 



