Robin Hood's Barn 



above the same old dug-out, sitting plumply on 

 his haunches with fore-paws upheld. Unvaried 

 is the greeting that he gives me, a shriU whistling 

 note. Never yet, moreover, have I escaped to 

 open pastures before my way was blocked by the 

 slow, forward browse of the returning herd. In 

 all the years of ovu* acquaintance these sober Hol- 

 steins have acquired no grace of manner. My 

 feet have but to come within their range of vision 

 and each head hfts upward for a long, slow stare. 

 With feigned stolidity they wait for the encoun- 

 ter; but as I come near there is a tentative warm 

 breath, a swift withdrawal, a frantic edging to 

 the further wall. In a moment horns are prod- 

 ding into flanks and haunches in the effort to get 

 by me. There is panic and a clumping rout. 



The field that lies behind them on the hill-top 

 is a place of open sunlight and slow shadows that 

 come pointing from the west. Its outer edge is 

 rough and bubbly, each scar of rock concealed 

 by spires of hardback and tufts of meadow-sweet. 

 As I make my way among them, I am reminded 

 of those wiseacres who preach philandering with 

 nature as proof against a later disillusionment 

 [162] 



