SUMMER IN SOMERSET. 281 
work in this meadow : the original scene from which he 
took his picture of Zhe Plough is not far distant. The 
painter is gone ; the grasses and the flowers are renewed 
with the summer. As I stood by the brook a water-rat 
came swimming, drawing a large dock-leaf in his mouth ; 
seeing me, he dived, and took the leaf with him undcr 
water. 
Everywhere wild strawberries were flowering on the 
banks—wild strawberries have been found ripe in 
January here; everywhere ferns were thickening and 
extending, foxgloves opening their bells.. Another deep 
coombe led me into the mountainous Quantocks,. far 
below the heather, deep beside another trickling stream. 
In this land the sound of running water is perpetual, the 
red flat stones are resonant, and the speed of the stream 
draws forth music like quick fingers on the keys; the 
sound of running water and the pleading voice of the 
willow-wren are always heard in summer. Among the 
oaks growing on the steep hill-side the willow-wrens 
repeated their sweet prayer; the water as it ran now 
rose and now fell ; there was a louder note as a little 
stone was carried over a fall. The shadow came slowly 
out from the oak-grown side of the coombe, it reached 
to the margin of the brook. Under the oaks there ap- 
pears nothing but red stones, as if the trees were rooted 
in them ; under the boughs probably the grass does not 
cover the rock as it does on the opposite side. There 
mountain-ashes flowered in loose order on the green 
slope. Redstarts perched on them, darting out to seize 
passing insects. Still deeper in the coombe the oaks 
stood on either side of the stream ; it was the beginning 
of woods which reach for miles, in which occasionally 
the wild red deer wander, and drink at the clear waters, 
By now the shadow of the western hill-top had crossed 
