THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 THE YEAR'S MIND
 
 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 HAMWORTH HAPPENINGS 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR OF "LEAVES FROM A LIFE," 
 
 " FRESH LEAVES AND GREEN PASTURES," " MORE LEAVES," 
 
 "MOST OF THE GAME," "LEAVES FROM A GARDEN," 
 
 ETC. 
 
 
 "There are milestones on the Dover road." MR. F.'s AUNT. 
 
 LONDON 
 
 EVELEIGH NASH 
 1913
 
 RICHARD CLAY & SONS, LIMITED, 
 BRUNSWICK STREET, STAMFORD STRBBT, S.E. 
 AND BUNG AY, SUFFOLK.
 
 TR 
 6031 
 
 TO 
 
 R. W. R. 
 
 WHO 
 LOVES THE HAMWORTH COUNTRY TOO 
 
 " I have heard you say 
 That we shall see and know our friends in Heaven." 
 
 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 871519
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAP. FACE 
 
 I JANUARY A NEW YEAR ...... 9 
 
 II FEBRUARY A WAKING WORLD 42 
 
 III MARCH DAFFODILS THE YEAR IS FRACTIOUS SMILES 
 
 AND TEARS . . . . . . 7 1 
 
 IV APRIL TENDER MEMORIES 98 
 
 V MAY COWSLIP TIME 124 
 
 VI JUNE ROSES, ROSES ALL THE WAY . . . -153 
 
 VII JULY A HOT SUMMER l8l 
 
 VIII AUGUST THE YEAR STAYS STILL 208 
 
 IX SEPTEMBER THE HARVEST MOON . . . -235 
 
 X OCTOBER THE HUNTERS* MOON . . . . . 263 
 
 XI NOVEMBER THE DAYS DRAW IN 294 
 
 XII DECEMBER THE YEAR ENDS 321
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 To face page 
 
 CLAUDIA'S COTTAGE . . . . . Frontispiece 
 
 THE DECOY . . 80 
 
 WHERE THE WATER-HEN BUILDS . " . . . 136 
 DORCHESTER l6l 
 
 STINSFORD . . . - .. . . . . . . 162 
 
 CHAPMAN'S POOL . ',... , . . . . 194 
 
 HAMWORTH BRIDGE 203 
 
 OUR OLD BREWERY . . . . . . . .212 
 
 A STONE QUARRY . 2l6 
 
 THE CHURCH TOWER REFLECTED IN THE RIVER . . 233 
 
 riii
 
 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 JANUARY A NEW YEAR 
 
 CLAUDIA came into the porch-room quite early with 
 her hands full of snowdrops. " A Happy New Year," 
 she said gaily, "and here are the first-born of the 
 fresh young things ; " and with deft fingers and her 
 head perched sideways as some bird meditating flight, 
 she arranged the pretty creatures in the clear green 
 glasses and set them one by one along the broad 
 window-sill. 
 
 " I give you the New Year," said I ; " you may have 
 it all, for it is no use to me. Now if you could only 
 exchange me new lamps for old how welcome would 
 be your gifts ! I don't want anything new, not even 
 new life or new strength or to renew my youth, the 
 very word * new ' annoys me now-a-days, new women, 
 new wine, new ways, even a new year. Why, bless 
 me ! 'tis but yesterday you made the same remark, 
 and though there were no snowdrops, for the winter 
 was dark and cold, you brought me other flowers, did 
 you not? Though for the life of me I can't recollect 
 what they were 1 " 
 
 9
 
 10 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 "They were violets from the frames at East 
 Street," replied Claudia, "and do not pretend you 
 have forgotten, for that I know you never do, and why 
 ask me for what you always have ? Who can take the 
 old things from you ? Please tell me that ! They are 
 all yours, and no one else can steal them from you, 
 why not keep them and add the new things to your 
 store as well ? " 
 
 I would add Claudia gladly, although I did not tell 
 her so in so many words, for though she is newest of 
 the new, she is a very precious thing. Sometimes I am 
 not sure that I approve of all she says and does, she 
 will not read many of the books I love, and likes 
 others that appear to me only fit for the dustbin. 
 She sits sideways on the table, and swings her neat 
 legs in fine hose and her feet in buckled shoes, while 
 her short skirt amazes me; it is so short and so tight, 
 yet her shoulders are square, her walk straight and 
 direct, and she has no more idea of fainting or 
 weeping in the good old style than I ever had myself 
 in the far-away days of my girlhood, when such a skirt 
 and such a display of legs would have been received 
 with cries of horror, and, moreover, followed, if seen in 
 the street by the ubiquitous small boy, with yells of 
 derision. Above all, she is fond of me and loves to 
 hear of all that was once as new as she is, and now is 
 as old aye, as old as the very hills. Sometimes she 
 tells me that I ought to put my soul, my mind, or 
 whatever it is that is really I, into a new body. She
 
 JANUARY A NEW YEAR 11 
 
 is not always respectful, this Claudia, and she tells me 
 that often enough I am far too young for my outward 
 appearance. She says I am more as some girl in her 
 grandmother's dress would be, and that she much 
 wishes I could buy a fresh outside and go on for ever- 
 lasting, always remaining inside the very same. 
 
 When Claudia talks to me in this manner, I wonder 
 does one ever feel old at all? Of course, I know quite 
 well that one's body becomes a most dilapidated and 
 disagreeable encumbrance, and one feels much as one 
 would have done in one's youth if compelled to wear 
 venerable and most unfashionable clothes and furs. 
 More especially furs, for there is nothing more 
 frightful than a worn seal-skin coat, for example ; or a 
 ruffled and torn sable tie, or a muff that comes off in 
 patches when touched and has evidently been at the 
 mercy of many and many a moth. 
 
 All the same I can find no sign of wear and tear 
 inside, and did my strength permit I would gladly 
 roam abroad with Claudia, join her in all her jaunts 
 and junketings, and walk as she does miles over the 
 hills and heather, despite rain and wind, aye, even in 
 despite of snow and frost as well. I often wish that 
 Claudia and I had been girls together, and yet I 
 wonder, had this been our fate, should we be such 
 great friends as we are now-a-days with nearly half a 
 century between our ages ? 
 
 The one or two really old friends I possess who are 
 yet alive have grown absolutely and entirely away
 
 12 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 from me; with one our friendship could be merely 
 represented by letters, and these soon shortened and 
 then failed utterly ; while the other, steeped to the lips 
 in riches and many interests, only vaguely recollects 
 the dear days of long ago and does not care to recall, 
 as I can, the times when we were both young. 
 
 True, in those days I could do more for her than she 
 could for me, but what does that matter? All the same 
 Rosetta and I hardly ever meet, while Claudia and I 
 are never so happy as when we are together, and I can 
 tell her of days when she was not, and of people she 
 has only heard of through their books, perhaps, or even 
 only because they lived before her in the little place 
 where now she finds herself a spinster, a very happy 
 spinster, although she is an orphan and without known 
 kith or kin. 
 
 It is such a dear and pleasant house, too, that 
 she inhabits, that I cannot blame her for the hap- 
 hazard way in which she took the Cottage, and be- 
 came, poor girl, the target at once for a hundred ears 
 and eyes. 
 
 She had no introductions in Hamworth, she knew 
 no one, she apparently did not want to know any one, 
 for when we all knew she was settled in and the 
 church was fuller than usual in order to see what her 
 best clothes were like, Claudia did not appear, while 
 cautious inquiries showed that chapel was equally 
 neglected, and that she had not driven, nor bicycled, 
 nor motored to Mass as she would have done had she
 
 JANUARY A NEW YEAR 13 
 
 introduced that fearsome spectre, the Scarlet Woman, 
 into our midst. 
 
 The " long, unlovely " lane that lies between me 
 and the skirts of Hamworth keeps me from many a 
 joy. I own, frankly, I love looking out of the window 
 and seeing the va-et-vient of even a small country- 
 town population. I do not, as do many of the 
 inhabitants, expect that because one lady walks on 
 one side of the street she does so especially to 
 insult or avoid me, or because some one walks in a 
 hurried fashion he or she is sent on an errand that 
 should be done quickly and as stealthily as may be, 
 but I love to watch the children with their toys and 
 their nurses, and to make up stories about those I 
 might see daily, if I lived as I once did, in the streets 
 of a busy city where I knew no one and no one either 
 knew or wanted to know anything about me. 
 
 Perhaps I hear more of the Hamworth doings 
 because I see so little, and in consequence, folk come 
 up the lane and tell me what they think they have 
 seen or know ; and that is how I heard first of all about 
 Claudia, yet even now I do not know how she obtained 
 the keys of East End Cottage, but she has very 
 winning ways, and no doubt the doctor who owned the 
 place could not say her nay. She came, she saw, 
 she conquered. She had money, and wanted to put 
 the place in order herself, and indeed it required it 
 badly, and the doctor had none to spare : her refer* 
 ences were most orthodox and impressive, her London
 
 14 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 lawyer and the Bank of England were overwhelming 
 evidence that she was what Hamworth called "quite 
 all right" but there it ended. No one knew her 
 relations, no one could imagine why she had come to 
 Hamworth, yet there she was, in a house as famil- 
 iar to us as our own, and yet that apparently was 
 to be closed to us from the day she took posses- 
 sion as if it had never been as open country to one 
 and all. 
 
 The road past the Cottage is not one that is much 
 frequented; it leads only to a delightful house, and 
 then down a cowridden lane to what we call "the 
 sea," yet it is astonishing how many of us sauntered 
 past that little rose-embowered cottage, when we knew 
 Claudia was in possession, to see if she had altered 
 the outward appearance, and, indeed, to gather from 
 her curtains what manner of woman had taken the 
 place of the oldest inhabitant who once made her home 
 between the prim and pleasant walls. In her time, 
 sober-coloured, dust-engrained wire blinds hid the 
 lower parts of the window, and stiffly-starched 
 Nottingham lace curtains told us that the day of fires 
 was over, and later, on the sight of her red winter 
 damask, allowed us to light our fires once more without 
 a qualm. It was a bold soul who transgressed the 
 unwritten law that between the two fairs, the one in 
 April and the other in September, no fire should glow 
 on the hearth, and though I invariably did so, well, I 
 was a chartered libertine from the first and naturally
 
 JANUARY A NEW YEAR 15 
 
 no one could expect me, coming as I did from 
 London, to understand that things that had once 
 become law must be enforced, on the pain of criticism 
 for which, unfortunately, I for one never could or did 
 care one jot. 
 
 But now, for the first time for at least seventy years, 
 Hamworth, poor submissive Hamworth, was without 
 a guide in these matters ! 
 
 Claudia had no curtains, not a vestige of one, and 
 instead of the ordinary sash windows, generally tightly 
 closed against noise, dust, and other intruders, 
 Claudia had introduced casement windows, which, 
 opening straight down to the floor and into the room, 
 allowed any one who wished to see the whole of the 
 interior of the room and so did away with any privacy 
 at all. Sun and air were, welcomed, nay, implored to 
 enter, and the little house took on a jaunty and inde- 
 pendent appearance that would have been the death 
 of the former owner had she been able to return and 
 see what was going on. 
 
 I used to believe no one had ever shaken Hamworth 
 to the foundations as I had done, but apparently 
 Claudia was to " go one better," as one of my school- 
 boy friends remarked in talking her over with me. 
 Everything that had been a decorous myrtle green was 
 now clear white ; even the gates were moved from the 
 side to the centre of the house, so that any one could 
 see straight through the little hall to the charming 
 garden with the lovely line of hills beyond and the
 
 16 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 river sparkling in the sun, and, though the gate was 
 high, and fastened with a lock to keep out children, 
 tramps and stray "gardening" dogs, and the box 
 hedge was allowed to keep its six-foot barrier between 
 the plot of grass and the street, the view from the 
 gate shocked Hamworth dreadfully, and whispers 
 went round that Claudia could be seen going up and 
 down her staircase, and what was to be expected from 
 any one who cared so little for les convenances as 
 that? 
 
 I have always loved and wanted East End Cottage, 
 and hoped that some day I might peacefully end my 
 storm-tossed life within its circumscribed, but most 
 dearly-cared-for walls. Even in my youth I loved to 
 go there and listen to the stories of bygone years told 
 me by the oldest inhabitant, and I did not mind how 
 long I stayed so that she could be induced to go on 
 talking all the time. 
 
 Sometimes she would be making what she called 
 mattress pincushions of odds and ends of silks that 
 were dresses in vogue at least a hundred years ago, or 
 else she would drag out sundry " pockets " full of old 
 letters written in the formal style of that period, while 
 she lamented those dear, dead days, and told me that 
 the present times were so dull compared to the golden 
 days when she was young. Then her daughter would 
 come in and scold her for talking nonsense, and her 
 hands would quiver as she put her treasures away; and 
 now daughter, and mother, too, were dead and at rest,
 
 JANUARY A NEW YEAR 17 
 
 and here was Claudia, the twentieth-century incarnate 
 and coming into the past, Heaven alone knew whence, 
 for not one soul had ever known her name, or could 
 find out whence she came with her rapid ways and her 
 actualities, and her stern determination to make the 
 best of her life and what she had around her. 
 
 Naturally, Mrs. Dewdney Paul had her own ideas 
 about Claudia, particularly as she saw her in the 
 garden when she called and the cross Scotch man- 
 servant said boldly that his mistress was not at home. 
 Could she be a ticket-of-leave creature, or a person 
 "no better than she should be," or a deserted wife? 
 All these things and more were suggested by the 
 townfolk, of course; but no one who saw the 
 charming, pretty, healthy girl ever really credited her 
 with either crime or unhappiness. Either must have 
 left its mark, though it certainly was extraordinary that 
 any one so young and well off, and so happy, could 
 live alone as she did and apparently not desire a 
 single acquaintance in the place ! The old doctor 
 who owned the Cottage confessed to me that he had 
 fallen in love with Claudia at first sight, and that 
 he hankered after her books and some more long talks 
 in the wide and flowery garden, but that his wife had 
 frowned upon the acquaintance if it were not to be 
 extended to her. But that, Claudia had told him 
 straight out could not be, she wanted to live her own 
 life in her own way and in clear, fine air and among 
 lovely scenery, and she could not be forced to waste
 
 18 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 her days in talking to folk with whom she knew she 
 would not have one idea in common. 
 
 " Now you, doctor, are different," she said calmly, 
 "you know, and you read, tell me what your wife 
 knows and reads ; of course, she is an excellent house- 
 keeper, so is my old Christian McCrae, and she reads 
 the local paper, the parish magazine, and an occa- 
 sional novel, is it not so? Well then, of what shall 
 we speak ? No, please keep her away from me and all 
 the other women, for life is too short for that sort of 
 thing, and if they talk of me, well, let them ! I shall 
 ; be a fresh interest in their lives, no doubt, but they 
 don't interest me, frankly, and from what I have seen 
 of the good ladies I feel sure we should have nothing 
 in common." 
 
 What wonder that the female procession past the 
 Cottage went by with a turned-up-nose expression 
 after such a speech as that, and that even the Vicar 
 felt he could say nothing in her favour when McCrae 
 forbade him the house, too, and Claudia did not even 
 reply to his letters asking for subscriptions, or come 
 once within the portals of his much maltreated church. 
 ' It was winter when I found out the real Claudia, 
 after whom I had often secretly hankered in silence 
 and alone. The meadows were a sheet of ice, and the 
 river was frozen, too, and our wild-fowl were abundant 
 in the harbour, and " down to sea " took all the men- 
 folk away, even sometimes for an entire night, and in 
 consequence I was much by myself. 
 
 I could watch the skaters on the meadows, and in-
 
 JANUARYA NEW YEAR 19 
 
 deed, on the river itself, but I never felt happy when 
 small boys and girls ventured there. There never had 
 been an accident, all the same I could see the running 
 water and the trailing weeds underneath the ice, and I 
 knew if it once gave with the tide, those who fell in 
 would only reappear at sea, "moist, damp, and un- 
 pleasant bodies," as Mr. Mantalini says, and until the 
 river at least ran free from its burden of ice I never 
 had a happy moment once real winter began. 
 
 Fortunately for me, real winters were few and far 
 between in our country, a few grey, cold days, a few 
 blue, bright, clear frosts and much south-westerly 
 winds and rain make up our usual winter weather. So 
 no wonder that when there is real ice and cold it is 
 exploited to the utmost, and that those who are too old 
 or feeble to join in the fun are left very much to their 
 own devices, for all who can are either off to the decoy 
 pond, or content themselves with the broad stretch of 
 water meadows that lies between us and the range of 
 ever-changing lovely hills. 
 
 It is fortunate for me that our garden faces west 
 and south, and is more or less of a sun-trap, and that 
 I have a delicious stone-terrace walk where I can prowl 
 up and down, remembering, none too sadly either, the 
 days that can never come again, while I look for the 
 first sign of a break in the weather and the thaw for 
 which I always so ardently long. How many, many 
 Januarys do I recollect, I wonder, from the first one 
 when I plunged into country life at the North Farm at 
 least forty-five years ago if not more, until the one
 
 I 
 
 20 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 
 when Claudia came walking into the lower garden 
 
 looking about her as if she were not quite sure where 
 she was or what she required when she discovered her 
 locality ! 
 
 Now I am quite accustomed to unknown folk pene- 
 trating into the lower garden, for we are the proud 
 possessors of a ruin, or rather I should say of the site 
 of one over which learned societies wrangle in print, 
 and even on the very spot, and so must expect in- 
 trusions that are more or less entertaining; and 
 honestly, I confess, generally more entertaining than 
 either truthful or useful. 
 
 At first I used vehemently to defend our Castle 
 from those who declared that it was a species of Mrs. 
 Harris, and that there had never been any such thing. 
 I would show the old foundations, point out where 
 the Castle stood, the situation of the moat, and a dozen 
 different things that emphasized its being, but they 
 one and all looked away to the better known vast ruin 
 in the gap four miles away, and some actually insinu- 
 ated that our Castle had been a mere rough guardian 
 of the ford, regardless of the fact that there was no 
 ford, that there was a bridge, and that moat and 
 garden, and close and Castle, were all to be traced by 
 an earnest inquirer bent on discovering the real un- 
 doubted truth. 
 
 But I have for many years now given up splintering 
 a lance in the Castle cause. I know the Castle was 
 there, for I have seen it embodied in mist on many an
 
 JANUARY A NEW YEAR 21 
 
 autumn evening, while the ghosts of those who 
 suffered, and loved, and lived between its walls have 
 often communed with me, and therefore I care not for 
 the antiquarian, not even for the open-mouthed, un- 
 believing crowd that represents the field clubs of the 
 present day. 
 
 Yet the moment I saw Claudia in the lower garden 
 I felt that she was a kindred soul, and catching up 
 the knitted shawl which I honestly loathe because it 
 is an open mark of my declining years, I went as 
 swiftly towards her as I could and, calling softly, bade 
 her wait until I could come to her aid. At first her 
 head was raised, as a listening, alarmed stag raises his 
 head lest the hunter should be about, but in a moment 
 our eyes met, and she came hurrying up the little 
 flight of steps that leads from one garden to the other : 
 then she took the hateful shawl from my hands and, 
 laughing, put it round my shoulders. She knew I 
 disliked the thing, but she knew, too, I should dislike 
 bronchitis, and the town doctor worse, though he is a 
 kindly man, and as a man and not a medical attendant 
 I like him much, and we are really friends. 
 
 " I was trespassing, I fear," she said, in her fine, 
 bell-like voice that never jars, never screams, never is 
 aught but a most pleasurable sound to my ears ; " but 
 I want to see the Castle, and somehow I felt certain 
 you would not mind even if you were out and saw me 
 this cold and curious day." 
 
 " You can't see the Castle, because it is not there,"
 
 22 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 I replied, with a laugh ; " but if you believe in it as I 
 do, you will have to wait until autumn, then on a misty 
 afternoon at sunsetting you will be shown it all, tower 
 and buttresses, doors and arrow-slits, and maybe, if 
 you are a friend of the past, the knights and ladies will 
 come down the steps to the ruin and we will watch 
 what happens when the great barges come under the 
 bridge and the latest news is brought them from the 
 world outside our walls." 
 
 Claudia put out her long, white, ungloved hands and 
 took mine in her clasp. ; ' This is astonishing," she 
 said ; " and now I know why I came to Hamworth." 
 
 "And why?" asked I. 
 
 " Do you never feel some names attract you at 
 once ? " she answered. " Oh ! but I know you do : the 
 moment I saw you I knew you would understand me, 
 and in a world half of which thinks I am bad, and the 
 other half knows I am mad, it's something indeed to 
 find a kindred soul." 
 
 " But Hamworth ! " I persisted. " Now speak to me 
 of Farallones or Monterey, and I wish at once for the 
 magic carpet of old; but I see nothing in the prosaic 
 name of our little gossip shop." 
 
 " Ah ! but I do," said Claudia. " Just think' Ham ' 
 for the village, and * worth ' for the worthy spot, and 
 there you have it at once. I saw the name in the 
 railway guide, took my ticket, and fell on East End 
 Cottage; since then I have been settling in, and now, 
 being in order and happy for the first time for years,
 
 JANUARY-A NEW YEAR 23 
 
 I set out to explore, and the moment I do I discover 
 the Castle and the chatelaine on whom without this 
 informal encounter I should never have dared to 
 intrude for one moment." 
 
 I laughed again. " Hamworth says that we intrude 
 if we seek your acquaintance," I said, "and I who 
 know how hateful it is to be called on, and have to 
 call, felt for you from the first. I like folk to come 
 and see me dearly, but a card-case paralyses me, and 
 'tis many a year now since I took out the dismal badge 
 of slavery that it represents. Even townfolk are wiser 
 now-a-days, I hear, and have given up the practice ; if 
 so, who can say the world does not improve, though 
 we older folk fancy it goes too fast and that some day, 
 and that not so far ahead, it will come to a tremendous 
 smash? But if you will come in now and talk, I can 
 give you tea and a sight of the county history, and 
 the plans we have drawn out of the Castle and the 
 pictures I drew one afternoon when it was plainer than 
 usual to my opened eyes." 
 
 As we walked towards the square and hideous house 
 in which I live, I saw Claudia glance round in all 
 directions ; it was winter and bitterly cold, but she knew 
 of the magnolia and its fifty silver and golden cups, 
 of the mulberry-tree and the birds in the garden, and 
 she confessed to having read sundry books, but only 
 since she came to the town. Of course, the house 
 appalled her, as it always did me when I looked at it 
 when the creepers were bare and leafless, but that
 
 24 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 was not often. On the stone terrace I need not see it, 
 and after all what is the outside of a house? No more 
 than the ungainly outside of a person, which often 
 repels one at first; but the sweetest nut often has the 
 roughest kernel, and in our case the outside of the 
 house does not express in the least what the inside is 
 like and could not, however hard it tried ! 
 
 A vast fire burned on the hearth of the hall, made up 
 of cedar logs and pine-cones, and was a welcome of 
 itself, and Claudia and I sank into the great sofa and 
 began to talk as if I had known her all her life. 
 Indeed, in some former life we two might have lived 
 and known each other well, for there were no secrets 
 to unravel and we both, so it appeared to me, spoke 
 the same unwritten language of the soul. There were 
 how many years between our ages? but sometime 
 it had not been so, and I was sure we had met and 
 loved in some century to which we now in some 
 mysterious manner went drifting back. 
 
 Claudia saw that I was looking at her somewhat 
 earnestly, and indeed I was trying to trace some 
 likeness between her and some one else in this world 
 of ours. It was an uncommon type of feature that 
 Claudia possessed, and very unlike the ordinary face 
 of the present day, for she had a broad and quiet brow, 
 dark, thick and wavy hair, and could sit in peace and 
 rest without the endless fidgeting that marks the 
 woman who is always " going on " yet somehow never 
 seems to arrive at any special spot.
 
 JANUARY A NEW YEAR 25 
 
 Yet it was all familiar to me, curiously enough, not 
 as a mere memory, but as a replica of some individual 
 or race with which at one time or other I had been 
 thrown in contact. It puzzled me much as I poured 
 out the tea, and saw the cakes were close beside 
 her hand ; and though we talked at first merely of the 
 walks round Hamworth, of the flowers and birds and 
 the garden that I knew far better than Claudia did 
 yet, she felt I was searching for the clue, and in a 
 moment of abstraction she gave it me into my very 
 hands. 
 
 It was merely the mention of a picture in a house 
 in the North, and at once I knew whence Claudia 
 really came, and when she saw I had recognized the 
 birthplace of her race she leaned nearer to me and said 
 it was best for our friendship that I should be told all 
 that there was to tell about her childhood and early 
 days. How simply things come round and round in 
 this world of ours, for in the same bed in which 
 Claudia's mother was born a relative of mine had first 
 seen the light. In Claudia's mother's case, her arrival 
 was a matter of course; in the case of my relative, a 
 deep and sudden snowstorm had kept the mother 
 house-bound; the child arrived in vast haste to this 
 world which he remained in for over ninety happy and 
 peaceful years, but he had no right in that birth-bed. 
 He was but the son of the steward of the place, and 
 Claudia's mother was the daughter of the house, a 
 house of pride indeed, and one that shook to its
 
 26 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 foundations when the girl disappeared with her groom, 
 and married him despite the frantic rage of every one 
 concerned in the matter, save that of husband and 
 wife, content as they were to slip away and live their 
 own lives in a distant county, where, so it seemed, no 
 one ever heard their real story. 
 
 Before her marriage, Claudia's mother a Lady 
 Mary an' it please you had lived a starve'd and well- 
 nigh maimed existence, and at forty felt that the time 
 had surely come in which she might break away. Her 
 parents were dead, her brothers married or on the point 
 of marriage, and the old home was overfull of 
 nephews and nieces : she was country born and country 
 bred, and though the pictures on the walls and the 
 jewels at the bankers were priceless, they were also 
 heirlooms, and beyond a corner of the Castle and a 
 few pounds a year for dress she had nothing, and 
 moreover, there was nothing before her save the 
 endless round that she had begun to look on with 
 terror, and which caused her to feel much as a squirrel 
 must who is caught and caged and goes round 
 endlessly in his wheel-like prison. 
 
 Gresley, the groom, had, so he stated, a romantic 
 story of his own ; he was handsome, clean, and, on the 
 very surface of things, well bred ; he hinted at parents 
 who were separated, but who were of much higher rank 
 even than those of Lady Mary; he had pleading, dark- 
 brown eyes and long and slender hands. Sometimes 
 his hands would meet Lady Mary's as he altered her
 
 JANUARY-A NEW YEAR 27 
 
 bridle or guided her young horse over some dangerous 
 place in the road. I fancy he trusted that once married 
 he would never work any more, and that Lady Mary's 
 people would pay him to be out of their sight. If so, 
 he was disappointed ; the offer of a character " as a 
 good man with horses " was all he obtained by his 
 hurried wedding, and, as is the pleasant habit of 
 Englishfolk, his wife had actually nothing of her own, 
 she was penniless as his bride and never heard the 
 last of it until the happy day on which he broke his 
 neck in the schooling of a hunter, and reduced really 
 to the status of a pauper, Lady Mary, or Mrs. Gresley 
 as she called herself from the day of her marriage, 
 applied for help and obtained it from her brothers, 
 though they declined to see her or do more than would 
 keep body and soul together and give Claudia a 
 species of education in a cheap and starveling school. 
 Fortunately, here Claudia had come across the 
 chance of her life, and, having developed a consider- 
 able amount of brains, the head governess at the school 
 took her solidly in hand and worked her for all she was 
 worth, and that was saying a very great deal. Miss 
 Pearson in her day had been a classical scholar at 
 Oxford, and before the era of continuation schools 
 and County Council and Board School education had 
 had a large and flourishing establishment for the 
 middle classes, and out of much odious and surprising 
 material had manufactured good, solid, well-educated 
 women. But in Claudia's time she had fallen on evil
 
 28 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 days, her pupils were vanishing into space, and 
 Claudia had the benefit of Miss Pearson's almost un- 
 divided attention. A college course was before her 
 when her mother's illness called for her at home, and 
 then money came her way. Uncles and aunts and 
 cousins died out, wellnigh to the last representative of 
 the family, and enough came to Lady Mary to make 
 her last days happy and the future of her daughter 
 more than merely secure. It was not until her mother 
 was wellnigh on death's doorstep that Claudia was told 
 the facts of her parentage ; and indeed, had her mother 
 not left behind her one of those piteous and cruel 
 and most unnecessary diaries some women love to 
 write, she would never have comprehended what that 
 proud, unhappy woman had been through. But in 
 black and white, there it was : from the first year she 
 was married until the day Claudia left home for school. 
 It had been evidently a vent for the miserable woman's 
 feelings, for she had no one to whom to speak ; but all 
 the same it were better had the record been destroyed 
 unread. 
 
 Lady Mary had evidently dreaded a similar fate 
 might befall her daughter, and over and over again she 
 recorded the miseries of a close companionship with a 
 man redolent of the stables, without an idea beyond 
 his horses, who had never read a book, could not 
 understand half she said, and who never lost an oppor- 
 tunity of telling her what he had expected when he 
 married her, and how he had gained nothing but an
 
 JANUARY A NEW YEAR 29 
 
 elderly shrew who could neither advance him in this 
 world or even cook, wash and sew for him, as an 
 ordinary wife would naturally have been able to do. 
 Lady Mary was no fool, though her marriage did not 
 prove her a wise woman by any means, yet she set her 
 teeth and, accepting the situation which she had 
 certainly placed herself in, learned to keep his house 
 and live as his position and pay allowed, but what it 
 cost her was faithfully retailed day by day in her diary, 
 and, in reading it, Claudia had wellnigh broke her 
 heart. Though Claudia recollected her father, she had 
 really loved him in her childish way; and she had not, 
 naturally, understood how different he was from her 
 beloved mother, whom she had often thought was harsh 
 and unkind to her husband. Claudia had loved his 
 handsome face, his merry laugh, and his way with the 
 horses and dogs by which he was always surrounded, 
 and which Claudia loved, too ; and she had often been 
 irked and vexed by the manner in which her mother 
 restricted her visits to the stables, and hustled her out 
 of the way when the ladies from the big house called 
 in at rooms set apart for Gresley and his wife, and 
 tried in vain to patronize Gresley's " most unapproach- 
 able and stuck-up wife." 
 
 Claudia had not one friend in the world when she 
 went to school at Miss Pearson's, and there she did not 
 find any girls who appealed to her, for they were all 
 frankly middle class ; but as soon as Miss Pearson met 
 Lady Mary and knew her story, she kept Claudia to
 
 30 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 herself. It was not the best thing for her, but at any 
 rate she faced life with a pure accent, with an accumu- 
 lated store of miscellaneous knowledge gleaned 
 principally from books, and a contempt and hatred for 
 men and all their doings, which amused me vastly the 
 while I pitied her, as I always do pity brotherless girls ; 
 for indeed, without those dearly beloved torments of 
 one's youth it is impossible to know the male sex, 
 even in a measure, as it really is. 
 
 It was on one of her rare visits to her mother's old 
 home that she found the McCraes and determined 
 to have a house of her own, where she could keep her 
 belongings and be ill in and even die in, should she 
 wish to do so. She had had experience of being ill 
 in a relation's house, she remarked quaintly, and after 
 that she never dare sneeze even, should she be where 
 they were. 
 
 January began our acquaintance, and when the 
 second January came we were old friends, and I could 
 see that Claudia could exist without Hamworth, though 
 she resided in the street, and found her life full 
 although she joined in none of the small distractions, 
 amusements, or even duties of the place. Above all 
 she tended her garden, but did not alter the beloved 
 place. 
 
 Now this was a trait in Claudia that especially 
 appealed to me, though I owned myself baffled en- 
 tirely by it. In my youth it was my one ambition, and 
 to alter, to change, to improve, seemed to me my one
 
 JANUARY A NEW YEAR 81 
 
 object in life; but so advanced and modern was 
 Claudia that her one idea was to preserve, not to 
 destroy, and I wished sincerely I could have been as 
 she was at that same age. Of course, now I understand 
 how many things I removed beside the mere objects 
 themselves. Four-post bedsteads, sacred to the 
 memory of births and deaths, were nothing to me; 
 heavy chairs were banished, for I did not care to feel 
 others had sat there before me ; and in my rage to make 
 a place for myself I ruthlessly swept away many and 
 many a kindly ghost. But Claudia, the product of the 
 late nineteenth century, had none of those ideas. She 
 was, therefore, somewhat of a mystery to me, for she 
 appeared always listening and waiting, but what for I 
 had not discovered even in our one long year of close 
 companionship. If I could believe (as I always try to 
 do), in ghosts, I would say that Claudia was awaiting a 
 message from the past, or from out the mysterious 
 ether by which we are surrounded; and when she 
 brought me in the snowdrops that second January she 
 appeared so aloof, so waiting, that I asked her plainly 
 what was the matter, and what she expected was about 
 to occur. 
 
 " It is the New Year," she said quietly ; " to me it is 
 a very real thing, and each separate month has its own 
 speech, its own message. Oh ! I am glad this is a 
 better month than its brother last year was ; I do hate 
 ice and snow, the earth appears so dead when the frost 
 claims it; and now, you see, here are the snowdrops,
 
 32 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 and I found winter aconites under the elm-trees, and 
 so I know the spring is on the way." 
 
 "Last year you had violets," I replied; "there is 
 always something." 
 
 " Forced and in a frame," she said bitterly ; " it's 
 like a compliment paid in a ball-room, or a life spent 
 between four walls. Give me open spaces and fresh 
 air and things from out of doors ; you may have all the 
 hot-house glories that grow, dear friend, so long as you 
 leave me those that come of their own sweet will." 
 And she threw open all the porch-room windows, and 
 leaned out above the creepers looking towards the hills 
 and the river running laughing in the sparse winter sun. 
 
 "What is your real outlook on life, Claudia?" I 
 asked ; " you have been over a year in Hamworth, are 
 you to be always content to watch the seasons and note 
 the growth of your garden ? Do you never pine for the 
 outside world and the rush and hurry of London to 
 see the great cities beyond the seas, and to listen to 
 other languages besides our own, which, really after 
 all, resolves itself into mine and the Scottish brogue 
 of the most excellent McCraes? " 
 
 " I am waiting," said Claudia quietly. 
 
 "And for what?" I asked. 
 
 " For a message," she replied quickly, " but from 
 whom or of what I do not know; all I am aware of is 
 that somewhere somehow I shall be called and I 
 shall go, or else, perhaps, there may be work for me in 
 Hamworth, though I must own I cannot believe in that.
 
 JANUARY A NEW YEAR 33 
 
 No one was ever such a fish out of water, truly, as I 
 have been here except, of course, for you," and she 
 took my hand in hers and held it for a moment or so 
 close against her rose-leaf face. 
 
 ' You have opened the gates of youth for me once 
 more," I answered, "and you have shown me what 
 youth could be. I was sad and old that day in the 
 garden when we looked for the Castle and you put the 
 little shawl round my shoulders. Now shawl and age 
 have vanished under your touch, and whatever I am 
 or look, I am not a day older than you, so you have 
 given me a new and happier soul." And I put the 
 hand she had taken under her firm, round chin and, 
 raising her face to mine, kissed her clear and starlike, 
 wide and candid eyes. 
 
 Ah ! how tired I had been of my life before Claudia 
 came to Hamworth, how weary of the gossip, the talk, 
 and the little miserable bickerings and quarrellings 
 of the narrow-minded townfolk. Then, too, for me, 
 there was nothing but memories in Hamworth, and my 
 old friends and acquaintances were dead and gone, 
 and I had no one left to talk over the beloved past with 
 until Claudia came, and she at once became as 
 interested in the ghosts as even I was myself. Perhaps 
 it was not healthy, but it made me happy to sit in the 
 little square drawing-room and tell her how often I 
 had sat there as a bride, a young married woman, a 
 mother, and listened to stories that would take us back 
 more than a hundred years.
 
 34 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 It is something to have seen and spoken with those 
 whose nightly terrors were of the landing of Bona- 
 parte, who watched every night from the attic above 
 Claudia's bower-like bedroom for the lighting of the 
 beacon that would bid the Hamworthians harness their 
 horses to the carriage, and make for the supposed 
 safety of Salisbury Plain; it is yet more to have 
 known her who saw Bonaparte land in the little cove 
 eight or nine miles away and heard him say " Im- 
 possible " as he looked at his outspread map with his 
 generals standing by. I could tell Claudia that where 
 her dainty bed stood a vast four-poster had reared its 
 sober head, where, chintz-clad in summer, dressed in 
 red moreen in winter and heaped high with down 
 bedding, it had seen the birth and death of many a 
 member of the one family. It did not see the death of 
 the last, poor soul, for she fell and died in the hall, 
 and being of vast size and great weight, lay awhile in 
 the drawing-room, and then went to her last sleep in 
 the awful family vault. I protest when they placed 
 her there, her coffin was not two feet below the ground, 
 let us trust she cannot return to her old haunts. 
 
 I was not always happy in that Hamworth room until 
 Claudia came; 'the first owner would wail and moan 
 aloud at the changes, which, after all, are but what one 
 must expect as the years go by, faster and faster as 
 they pass along. 
 
 I wonder what became of all the family treasures, 
 the double-handled beautiful Charles II silver cup
 
 JANUARY A NEW YEAR 35 
 
 which was always used as a sugar basin, and which I 
 always pined for; the Chippendale tea chest, with its 
 divisions for green and black tea, its silver tea scoop, 
 and its fine cut-glass sugar bowl in the centre of the 
 box, which, however, was never used, or the three 
 Chippendale mirrors? If only they could reproduce 
 one after the other the faces that have been reflected 
 in them, even of the last one ! First as a school -girl 
 impatient for life, then of the round-faced, blue-eyed 
 maiden seeing a lover in every lad yet never meeting 
 her mate, then a watchful spinster on the look-out for 
 others' faults and failings, and quite unable to see her 
 own, and, finally, the stout old maid who had, I verily 
 believe, more pleasure in recalling her fancies than she 
 had ever had in expecting the husband that never, 
 never came. 
 
 What an amount of sham and pretence there were in 
 those days to be sure, and how glad I am for Claudia 
 that she has the courage to be herself, and live her 
 own life impervious to any shaft that may be aimed at 
 her most vital part ! True, there is no need for Claudia 
 to use " candle-savers," or to delay lighting the lamp 
 because oil is too dear; she can switch on the electric 
 light in a moment as she will, neither need she scrape 
 and save as did her predecessor. Yet she does not 
 disdain fine housekeeping in a way, and, indeed, if she 
 did, Mrs. McCrae would have to be reckoned with. 
 She " canna thole waste," and were it not for Claudia's 
 pensioners, the household would often be put to it to
 
 86 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 get through the weekly orderings from the county 
 town. 
 
 Even in this matter of provision, how many things 
 have changed since my first days in Hamworth ! Then 
 every tea-leaf we had was carefully saved and col- 
 lected at the back door by two or three ancient dames. 
 There was the weekly receiving of pence for the 
 clothing club, the boot and coal clubs, and, moreover, 
 the cast-off out-grown garments of one's children were 
 received with wellnigh veneration and reappeared as 
 good as new on the backs of smaller folk. Unpicked, 
 cleaned, re-made, and then once again turned and 
 returned, the pattern and material almost haunted one, 
 so well did they wear on the backs of those to whose 
 thrifty mothers we were glad to give what now is 
 hustled into the nearest jumble sale. 
 
 Who cares for one's tea-leaves now? Tea is so 
 cheap, there is no one so poor in Hamworth that she 
 cannot buy her own, not half-a-dozen women can sew 
 as the mothers of old did, and the things bought at the 
 jumble sales " go on as they came off," and the children 
 run about shabby caricatures of those who were the 
 first proud possessors of the raiment that wears 
 no time now-a-days once it reaches the backs of the 
 poor ! 
 
 " It is a ready-made, a shoddy age," I tell Claudia, 
 and she laughs. " It may be," she says gaily, " but 
 even so it is good that the women have not to toil as 
 they used." Ah ! do I not recollect my old sempstress
 
 JANUARY-A NEW YEAR 37 
 
 and her fourteen boys and girls, and how she was 
 never one moment idle, how she agonized when the 
 children came and how her wastrel husband ate the 
 dinners he fetched for her, while I wondered how it was 
 she grew strong so slowly ? Her man was in bond to a 
 tradesman he had once robbed, and who forgave him, 
 but kept his nose to the grindstone at starvation wages 
 until both master and servant died. Before that she 
 got work for herself and toiled outside as well as 
 inside the house ; her days were one round of con- 
 tinuous hard work, yet I never heard her grumble once, 
 and her girls became one and all most admirable 
 members of society. Yet not one of them has more 
 than three children, that is the outside number, and 
 their children in turn will, I fully expect, forget the 
 tumbledown cottage of Hamworth and will build up 
 pedigrees for themselves ; and they most certainly will 
 have the education and appearance of gentlefolks, of 
 that there is no doubt at all. No one would now-a- 
 days be content with that first house, the damp kitchen, 
 and unevenly floored sitting-room, and the dreadful 
 bedrooms leading one from the other with doors that 
 would not close, and windows which would not open : 
 without fire-places, and with holes through which one 
 could see the sky if one gazed upwards, and perceive 
 the downstair rooms if one looked before one as one 
 went ! 
 
 There was once a row of similar houses up our lane, 
 they are all swept away now and exist in my memory
 
 88 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 principally because I once saw fourteen grown-up men 
 emerge from one of them at early dawn, and because 
 in another a riotous celebration was held due to my 
 extreme ignorance in my earliest of January days. An 
 infant arrived, the grandmother sent to me for brandy, 
 and I gave her a bottleful ; the next day my old doctor 
 came in. '* You nearly committed woman-slaughter 
 last night," he said, and when he saw my horrified look, 
 he added : " Never give spirits or wine unless you have 
 a doctor's written order. I was only just in time to 
 save the baby having a dose, and as it is the mother 
 is a marvel ! She ought to be in a high fever but she 
 is not, no thanks to you and your brandy bottle." 
 That woman had, I think, a round dozen of children, 
 but no more brandy from me, and I have known her 
 long before her infant was a week old out in the hay 
 or harvest field, the infant rolled up in flannel in the 
 care of a small child. She could not afford to lose the 
 extra pay the season offered her, and apparently was 
 none the worse. She was alive and well when the 
 cottages were pulled down, and then she and her 
 progeny went either " up country " or " down the vale," 
 and I lost sight of them once and for all, in the remark- 
 able manner one does lose sight of those to whom the 
 post is yet a marvel and who look upon a letter as in 
 bygone days we used to regard the receipt of a 
 telegram. Something to be feared and dreaded and 
 let alone, for sure it must mean mischief, and "no 
 news must emphatically be good news," for no one
 
 JANUARY A NEW YEAR 39 
 
 wrote or telegraphed unless some dire mischance had 
 arisen. 
 
 Claudia, a child of the age, had electric light and a 
 telephone, and I, impelled by her insistence, have 
 followed her example. I own I like the one, but still 
 dread the other, with its invisible hands stretching out 
 into the great world whence a voice may reach me at 
 any moment of the day or night. But all the same it 
 makes me independent of notes and local shops. I 
 can call Claudia, and Claudia can reply, and both she 
 and I can have as much or as little food as we like. 
 
 In the olden days there was not a soul in Ham- 
 worth who did not know what I had for dinner or what 
 the weekly books came to, now no one knows anything, 
 and the telephone erects a wall of silence round the 
 house which one must have known the clatter of gossip 
 to fully appreciate. Why ! even weather does not 
 matter now! and as for gossip, no one has time for 
 that : there is always something " going on " even in 
 Hamworth, and while I know the old folk of my time 
 would stir in their graves did they know all that 
 happens, I am glad it is so. Folk are kinder, less 
 censorious than then, less curious may be. Whether 
 " bridge " in the daytime is better for them I cannot 
 say ; I should not like it myself, but there, tastes must 
 always differ as much as fashions do. It was well, I 
 think, that my love for Claudia was born in January, 
 for it was indeed a new year for me when I found her 
 in the Castle moat, though I never care to confess that
 
 40 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 I want anything really new, but she so loves to hear of 
 all the olden times that with her I live them over again, 
 and sigh at the same time when I recollect how I used 
 to listen nearly sixty years ago to those who would now 
 be more than a hundred and twenty years of age were 
 they still alive. Will Claudia at sixty carry on the 
 tale? Then oral tradition is not dead, after all, and 
 her descendants, or if she have none, her young friends, 
 will stretch hands across a couple of centuries, so few 
 are the links required to bind the generations one to 
 another. Why, as the January light fades and the fire 
 burns brightly I pour out Claudia's tea from a teapot 
 once belonging to Queen Anne ! I have owned it a bare 
 forty-five years or so ; but 'twas given me by a friend, 
 who had it from her mother, who was lady-in-waiting, 
 think of that ! to her defunct Majesty herself ! I 
 wish it could speak ; but it cannot, it can only pour out 
 tea from its slim and elegant spout, tea that has been 
 used by our family since the end of the eighteenth 
 century, and bears the name of the proud ancestor who 
 used to gaze at an ancient Roman coin and delight in 
 the resemblance between it and her own noble profile, 
 which in her turn she has passed on and on and on ! 
 
 Generally I am content with the Romans and will 
 not dig farther, but I know how constantly the remains 
 of older, other nations are found beneath the soil, and 
 I know, too, that some day our relics will be smiled 
 over by unborn folk. Or shall we, returning ourselves 
 in another guise, smile and then sigh suddenly? Even
 
 V 
 
 JANUARY-A NEW YEAR 41 
 
 now I fancy I recollect much that has vanished for 
 ever, and I know I lived somewhere somehow before 
 the present day. A New Year? Dear Claudia! 
 There is nothing new under the sun or moon, all is as 
 it has ever been, although perchance for the moment 
 it wears an apparently fresh and radiant guise !
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 FEBRUARY A WAKING WORLD 
 
 THE wind in the night had risen and came tearing 
 over the meadows, heavy with rainstorms and 
 screaming like a thousand fiends. I could hear the 
 trees creaking and complaining, and the sea over the 
 hills roaring angrily ; the rain struck the windows as if 
 some one were using a whip, and amidst all the tumult 
 memory awoke and I recollected how on such a 
 February night a great ship had gone ashore in the 
 bay twelve miles away, and how in the morning 
 nothing remained save wreckage and a huddled 
 handful of half-naked creatures crouched over the fire 
 in David's cottage, thanking their own special God for 
 the light that had led them there, forgetting to be sorry 
 that the light meant death in that humble home, and 
 had it not been for that there would have been no light, 
 and, in consequence, they must one and all have been 
 drowned among the rocks that slew their ship. 
 
 I do not like wind and rain ; in the wind I hear the 
 unhappy cries of all the dead I have known and loved, 
 I fancy their spirits ride the whirlwind and are forced 
 hither and thither vainly searching for the rest that 
 never, never comes; and the rain is the tears of the 
 
 world, such anguished, bitter tears, which only wash 
 
 42
 
 FEBRUARY A WAKING WORLD 43 
 
 the earth clean for a bare hour, and then leave it as 
 foul as if they had never fallen on its breast. 
 
 It was wild, rough, February weather when I first 
 saw the North Farm I recollect, and often, indeed, do 
 I wonder what would have happened if I never had ! 
 The meeting there led me to Hamworth, and here I 
 have lain out of the tide for more years than one cares 
 quite to recollect, or at least to think over always. 
 
 How the wind screams and cries as midnight passes, 
 and a wan moon strives to ride the quickly passing, 
 ragged, grey clouds ! It is no use to try and read, I 
 cannot settle to a book in such a tempest, rather let me 
 rise and wander a little about the house knowing I 
 shall disturb no one, for there is no one left in all the 
 empty chambers to whom my presence would mean 
 anything at all. It is almost a temptation to ring up 
 Claudia, but the wind does not reach her sheltered 
 house as it reaches me, and I know that to-morrow will 
 soon come. Nay ! I should say to-day, and she will be 
 here with my breakfast eager to know if I am yet alive : 
 better to be alone with my remembrances and once 
 more, as of old, pretend I must see the nursery is safe 
 and that the schoolroom children have no terrors on 
 this wild and fearsome night. 
 
 ' To see their children virtuously brought up " is 
 the Prayer-Book supplication in the Marriage Service, 
 but, oh ! there should surely be added yet another 
 phrase or two : " Let them die before they see their 
 children die, or grown old or indifferent " ; that would
 
 44 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 be my prayer, I know, if I could ever pray, but life 
 has told me that one has to endure not wish, and that 
 one learns all one's lessons too late for them to be of 
 the least use to oneself ; and as to one's youngers (why 
 not youngers if elders be allowed?) they, of course, 
 know far better than we do and will not listen, and so 
 blunder on making just the old, old mistakes over and 
 over again. 
 
 I wonder who walks with me through the house on 
 this wild, February night? There are not many ghosts 
 to come, for the house itself is not seventy years old : 
 yet I know well all who were before me, and I am sure 
 that she, the tender, foolish, ill-used mother, dead 
 these fifty years, is my constant companion on such a 
 quest as this ! 
 
 Here once more she comes with trembling lest the 
 new big house was more than she could manage, or the 
 impetuous husband could properly afford; here she 
 wept and quivered at his wavering step, " market 
 merry " was the phrase then ; " market savage " would 
 have suited his special mood better, but she was a 
 gentle soul, and could but weep and pray. Better for 
 him and for her, too, had she turned and rent him, 
 better still could she have laughed at and taunted him ; 
 indeed, I vow gentleness never yet curbed the brute 
 in man. There was another wife I know who forgave 
 and loved and remained true; the day year she died 
 her husband married his mistress, who had borne him 
 children in the wife's lifetime, and whose existence had
 
 FEBRUARY A WAKING WORLD 45 
 
 nearly broken up the real home. What a shameful 
 crime was that truly, and how all comes back to me 
 now the ghosts are at hand ! It was here I received 
 the letter telling me of the marriage ; and from here I 
 went up to London stunned and deafened by the blow 
 and by memories that came crowding in. 
 
 I was a bare six years of age when the deed occurred, 
 yet how well I recollected the bright, crinolined, ring- 
 letted and merry girl who became the lost creature she 
 was to the end of her days. How well I remembered, 
 one bitter cold day, when it rained as it is raining now, 
 and she caught me up to her warm young breast and 
 carried me into the firelit shelter of her own home. I 
 can see her merry, laughing face, looking out of her 
 window which was almost covered with some luxuriant 
 creeper, a wistaria, I think, but am not sure, and how 
 she pelted me with parcels of hardbake and other 
 simple sweets because we called to her to come out and 
 she wanted to be lazy and read. 
 
 Then her name was forbidden us, we were never to 
 ask for her any more, and the next time I met her, her 
 laughter and curls and merriment were gone. I was 
 her judge, not her child-lover, and I hated her as I hate 
 her now and ever shall as long as I remember the 
 dreadful deed she did. Tempted? Not she, she was 
 the temptress, sinner, cruel, unscrupulous : she never 
 saw another's happiness but she snatched at it; well, 
 conscience must have troubled her, too, for drink 
 ended her days, and left her a victim old and lonely,
 
 46 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 and the children she had robbed to curse her very 
 name. Why should folk make such fearsome havoc of 
 their lives, I wonder : for she marred not only her own, 
 but ours, and the man's at whose feet she threw her- 
 self, Heaven alone knows what for ! She had a 
 gallant lover of her own, too, a soldier who fell in the 
 Charge of the Light Brigade, so long ago did it all 
 happen, oh ! unhappy spirits abroad this dismal 
 night ! are they together now, I wonder, or does she 
 drift alone, miserable, unforgiven, hated, in that wide 
 atmosphere of which we know so little, and about 
 which we are thinking always, almost every day? 
 
 I am not afraid of spirits, ghosts, call them what 
 you will, not even when I know some are evil and 
 yearning to hurt us in death, as they did in life. I 
 know the gentler, better essences keep me safe, and 
 there are more of those invisible creatures around me 
 than the few evil ones that might still long to do me 
 harm. Even on such a night as this they are powerless, 
 harmless, they ride the wind coming in from the sea 
 and scream as they go, but they are whirled onwards, 
 for the good and faithful souls whose lives are hidden 
 in my heart are abroad too : and they keep me in the 
 cyclone's very centre and heart, and there, as we know, 
 is ever stillness and peace. 
 
 It was on such a night as this I felt his sombre spirit 
 pass for the last time through the house that he had 
 built. I could hear him glide by, and I knew that he 
 had died, but he never came again. I have never felt
 
 FEBRUARY-A WAKING WORLD 47 
 
 his presence since that hour when he "passed over" 
 as the spiritmongers call it, and I think he must have 
 gone at once to the land that is very far off. Will the 
 powers we know so little of ever control us enough to 
 make speech and sight possible? Will wireless tele- 
 graphy give them the speech we long to hear? If we 
 could translate the divers tones of the wind this wild 
 night should I hear his voice once more? the voice 
 that never spoke unkindly, nor said one word that we 
 could wish he had left unspoken. His grave lies silent 
 and lonely, far, oh, far away ! the riotous winds that 
 shake our house moan over the spot where he is laid ; 
 but when the moon gleams out from the wild and 
 racing clouds, I know his cross shines in the fleeting 
 tfight and he is at rest; he is not one of the unquiet 
 spirits which scream round the place where he was 
 born, because he could not be unquiet even were he 
 still alive ! 
 
 At the rising of the moon the wind drops just a little 
 and the trees bend and creak, and the leaves on the 
 magnolia tap importunately on the blurred and 
 streaming window-pane. I can see the river and the 
 low-lying meadows just now and again; and I know 
 that morning is coming and that laggard spring is on 
 the way. 
 
 I think, could I choose, I would always have it 
 spring. Spring in one's heart, spring in one's life, 
 spring in one's garden : for spring is full of hope and 
 knows not disappointment. In spring all things are
 
 48 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 possible, and, indeed, whether in life or merely in the 
 garden, could we but know it, they are not only 
 possible but certainties, though that, alas ! we learn 
 all too late. 
 
 Can I save Claudia I wonder, as the sparse light 
 grows broader and the moon, conquering "the 
 weather," climbs up slowly over the beautiful hills. 
 And yet how loath one is to interfere in the moulding 
 of another's life in any shape or form. Have I not 
 helped others, only to be pushed aside as they climbed, 
 or to see them scoff at my proffered help, after they had 
 used it until they deemed it no longer of any service ? 
 Yet somehow I do not think Claudia will resemble 
 these others and cast me away when I can do no more 
 for her or in " cash or kind ! " Better then if I were 
 wise I should bid her leave Hamworth and travel and 
 see the world from which she shrinks so strangely, for 
 it is not good for her to live as she does among her 
 books and with her piano, contented, she says, but 
 not happy; and waiting, she says, for an unknown 
 message, though I know what that message will mean, 
 while she checks me when I speak of it, and of the 
 home and husband, aye, even of the children who 
 shall undoubtedly one day be hers ! 
 
 I was afraid of life in my youth and my fears 
 have been verified, for never was any one less fit to 
 rule than I, or less able to manage children and a 
 household, or indeed, anything at all, not even mine 
 own self, and I can therefore feel for Claudia. I
 
 FEBRUARY A WAKING WORLD 49 
 
 would have loved to live as a spirit is supposed to do, 
 without material form or cares, and how I have envied 
 those who could, I know, take life as it came from day 
 to day, and who even on such a February night as this 
 would have no commerce with the past at all, but would 
 sleep rocked by the wind, and drift dreamlessly 
 through the fears of night from one quiet day to 
 another, just as quiet and as uneventful as the days 
 had ever been ! Of course, they had their sorrows, but 
 then had they not their compensation in their peaceful 
 hours, their wholesome beliefs in an hereafter, which 
 should more than compensate them for all they had 
 suffered and lost? Yet were they not one and all so 
 many barriers against progress and were they not those 
 who, by their calm, unquestioning beliefs, kept us back 
 from touching hands with that wide other world which 
 may be so much nearer if only our eyes were not holden 
 and our ears too dull to hear? I cannot say, I only 
 know that at times there are essences around that make 
 for inspiration, that soft airs stir my hair at times, and 
 I know timid hands gently touch me now and again, 
 and yet and yet I dare not speak of this. 
 
 The wind is quiet now and only sobs, as does some 
 tired child who has cried itself to a sleep of exhaustion 4 
 and sombre dreams : the moon is at the full, and as I 
 lean from the window, heedless of the dripping 
 creepers, I hear the sea a long, long way off on 
 Broadbench, and I know that it is rough in the Channel 
 and that the labouring ships are coming home through
 
 50 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 a wild an'd tempestuous sea. But they are coming 
 home ! Why when folk are dying do they always cry 
 out for home, if they can speak at all, and are not 
 suffering greatly? "Take me home," how many an 
 one has begged in his last hours, and when death has 
 indeed arrived, home appears reached on the placid 
 face from which all save the "peace that passeth 
 understanding " seems wiped out by one touch of a 
 loved and loving hand. Death should not be, is not 
 abroad this early spring night, nay, rather shall life 
 come carolling along, for i' faith it has work enough to 
 do, the streams have to be set free, the flowers taught 
 to blossom, and the birds to pair; already they are 
 making love, and I know just where each will build 
 later on in the spring, for have they not made their 
 nests in the same places for as many years as it seems 
 to me that I can recollect ? 
 
 The grey dawn has begun to creep along the garden, 
 and the sombre day is ready to break, and here have I 
 not been for one moment in my bed ! What is it 
 makes one pine to wander abroad on such a night, or 
 indeed, when one feels the spring is coming to birth? 
 There must be gipsy blood in one's veins, I think, for 
 wander I must, if only about the wide and all-too- 
 empty house that once would scarcely hold us all. 
 Now I am once more sure that Claudia is wrong, for 
 when she is as old in her turn what shall she do for 
 the ghosts that mean so much to me ? She, too, must 
 have her picture gallery hung round with those em-
 
 FEBRUARY-A WAKING WORLD 51 
 
 blazoned events that nothing can dim. Hamworth 
 cannot fill that gallery for her, that is impossible, for 
 while she and I know none of the many new folk in 
 the old, sad houses, it is not right that this should be ; 
 she must make friends elsewhere if not here, and in 
 time found a family that shall pass on her grace and 
 sweetness which even here mark her out in this quiet 
 country town. 
 
 Now the light is here I see that the wind has been 
 more cruel than I thought it could have been, and that 
 there is havoc to repair even in our sheltered garden 
 above the Castle moat. The limb of the mulberry- 
 tree in which I always put the basin of food for the 
 birds is broken off, and leaves a ragged tear that goes 
 to my heart : other less loved trees have suffered, while 
 the ilex lies prone, the ilex our old gardener hated so 
 heartily and vowed he would get up any day at dawn 
 if only we would let him cut the untidy monster down. 
 He has long gone to his unearned rest, and I fancy him 
 asleep, very deep in the ground, his hands folded and 
 his dreams of streams of never-failing beer, and un- 
 counted "hours off"; for this would be his peculiar 
 Paradise, and if he never earned heaven, be sure 
 indeed, that he never for one moment merited the least 
 taste of hell. How many folk are as he was to be 
 sure, and yet what a good worker he was in his time ! 
 I can always hear his scythe on the lawn whenever I 
 like, and I can feel and smell the warm, round, netted 
 melons that never failed us, and which I have never
 
 52 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 coaxed into being since his long-past day. Early 
 potatoes were another pride of his, and it was a race 
 between him and a boon companion who should cut 
 the first asparagus or cucumber. Not that it mattered 
 to the winner or loser, for both would adjourn together 
 to celebrate the event, and the rest of the day would 
 pass in dreamless slumber, despite the fact that end- 
 less jobs were crying out loudly to be " done." 
 
 How gardening has altered since those early, early 
 days, and how glad I am to have lived to see it, though 
 I cannot buy the new and lovely plants, and I cling to 
 my old favourites, only now and then replacing one 
 that has died out calmly in a blissful old age. I like 
 to see the winter aconite come up fresh in the same 
 place I saw it first, when I was nine years old ; to watch 
 for the reappearance of the spring and summer flowers 
 each in his turn, and though I know I am wrong, I 
 keep the same gnarled old trees in the walled garden, 
 though their fruit is to be counted on the fingers of one 
 hand, and the gooseberries and currants feed the birds 
 only, because they are too small and tasteless for us to 
 trouble about at all. 
 
 Ah ! but I recollect the making of that garden, and 
 how can I do away with trees and bushes that were 
 young when I was? Let some one else come to the 
 rescue when I am no longer here. Memory will not be 
 theirs then, and perhaps even I am foolish to senti- 
 mentalize over a worn-out plum-tree and a tasteless 
 gooseberry, because once they and I were young
 
 FEBRUARY-A WAKING WORLD 53 
 
 together. Who save their geranium plants now-a-days 
 from season to season, hung head downwards in a dry 
 cellar, and coming out in the summer to bloom and 
 blossom once more? No one, a new colour is to be 
 had, or else cuttings are taken and the old plant is 
 thrown away; there is small patience with age now-a- 
 days, and folk are all on the go to procure for them- 
 selves some new thing. 
 
 By now the laggard day is here, and a watery 
 sunbeam slants across the casement, and then I hear 
 some one on the gravel path. 
 
 Astonishing ! It is Claudia ! Claudia as wan as the 
 day and as tired as even I am myself. " Have you had 
 a white night, too ? " I say as I let her in, and she 
 sinks gasping and terrified on the wide sofa by the 
 hearth, whose last night's logs still give out a warm 
 and furtive gleam. 
 
 " Say rather a red one," she replies, with a shudder, 
 and then out comes the tale, and I know why I was 
 restless all the night and unable to stay in my bed, as, 
 of course, I should have done. 
 
 How horrible can life be at times even in such places 
 as this, and I listen wonderstruck to Claudia's account 
 of all she has done since we parted at sundown only 
 the night before. 
 
 Above the cry of the wind at dark came another cry, 
 by Claudia's garden gate, and then another. Claudia 
 and Mrs. McCrae went out to prospect in the dark, for 
 a lamp would have blown out, and an old-fashioned
 
 54 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 lantern is unknown in these days of electricity, and 
 gas, and other speedy ways of procuring light. At 
 last, buffeted by the wind and drenched with rain, they 
 were returning to the sheltered house when a hand 
 caught Claudia's garments, and there, on the path 
 outside the low, green gate, lay a bundle, which, carried 
 indoors, disclosed itself into a creature in agony, and 
 a small, naked, newborn child. It was no time to 
 think, one could but act, and disapproving stern Mrs. 
 McCrae had to help both into a bed while McCrae 
 went for the doctor, and Claudia warmed milk, and 
 fetched and carried at the good old housekeeper's 
 behest. 
 
 Doctor Paul turned Claudia out of the chamber and 
 bid her wait him in the room below, and when he came, 
 was inclined to be stern and hard. It might be illegal 
 to move the creature in the morning, but the workhouse 
 ambulance should come, and Claudia was to see and 
 hear no more of the waif brought her by the wind and 
 the rain. But Claudia cried out, she was no youthful 
 Miss; at twenty-five one has an idea that infants are 
 not found under gooseberry-trees, or even brought by 
 the stork; no day-old mother and child should leave 
 her roof until all danger was passed, and nothing said 
 on the matter would alter her ultimatum in the least. 
 The doctor hummed and hawed; rose, and sat down 
 again, and tried to explain. The new woman who 
 knows, as some think, far too much, and whose charity 
 embraces, as well as covers, a multitude of sins, was
 
 FEBRUARY-A WAKING WORLD 55 
 
 wellnigh unknown to him; he had gathered from 
 sundry books that such folk did exist, and he feared to 
 find in Claudia one of these unhappy developments 
 of an astonishing age. His womenkind, he knew, 
 would have soundly trounced the jade, nay, he doubted 
 if they would have taken her in out of the storm and 
 rain ; that Claudia had done so was charitable, but that 
 she could wish to keep her was indeed incomprehen- 
 sible to him. 
 
 Could it be true, after all, that his wife was right, and 
 that no one who had not something to hide would live 
 the quiet, cloistered life that Claudia did ? In any case 
 plain speaking must, he felt, be reverted to, and 
 without further preamble he told her all he knew. 
 
 This was her third child, the other two were out at 
 nurse in Hamworth, and she had put off her journey 
 too late; he had been expecting her for the last few 
 days, then no one would have heard about it : once 
 more she would have gone back to London to her 
 work, whatever that might be, and none save he 
 himself and the nurse would be any the wiser. 
 
 She came and went as regularly as the spring to see 
 the children ; her eldest child was eight, the younger 
 six years old, they were well kept, fed, and in a 
 measure taught, but no one knew her name, it had 
 always been a mystery, now it would be town talk he 
 feared; there were reasons why inquiries would be 
 made; in any case Claudia had better keep out of a 
 most unsavoury mess.
 
 56 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 Claudia had forbidden the workhouse, though good 
 Mrs. McCrae had sided with the doctor; to her 
 Claudia was a child and unfit to judge in the matter, 
 and wearied out with talk and argument, Claudia had 
 come to me to see what should be done were the 
 woman able to be moved a little later on. 
 
 I remembered how my thoughts had turned to the 
 telephone, and I asked Claudia why she had not 
 stretched out a hand to me in the night, but she had 
 forgotten, she said, both it and me ! It was only when 
 the wind went down and the day came that she re- 
 collected me, and came rushing up to see if I were 
 awake, and to beg the counsel she knew well she could 
 rely on. 
 
 True, I was at first at one with Mrs. McCrae and 
 the doctor; one could perhaps forgive the first fall, 
 though I own I myself never can : but the second, and 
 the third? These were deeds to think over, and I 
 feared I could not feel kindly even to the suffering 
 creature and her wee and sickly babe. I do not like 
 infants, and have often envied deeply those to whom 
 every tiny newborn creature is as a gift straight from 
 God. To see some women seize and hug a baby is to 
 me a never-failing source of wonderment, and indeed 
 I cannot understand the rapture that they most un- 
 doubtedly feel. I have watched grandmothers unfold 
 the tiny claws rose-leaf hands they call them of 
 newborn babies as if they were quite new mysteries, 
 pour kisses on wet and milky mouths that to them
 
 FEBRUARY-A WAKING WORLD 57 
 
 resembled twin cherries on one stalk, while the belaced 
 garments are up-rolled to show the little feet that for 
 them have but lately trodden the streets of gold in 
 Paradise. 
 
 Now I cannot feel or see anything of all this, I am 
 afraid of small children, and I think rather of what is 
 before them than of what the ordinary grandmother 
 so complacently recognizes in her child's child. A 
 well-born child is terrifying enough, but a child born 
 in sin, as the old Puritans put it, and conceived in 
 misery and shame, disgusts me even as its parents 
 disgust me, and I cannot feel charitable towards any 
 of them at all. I pained Claudia at first, I know, but 
 she had patience, for she knew also that I am old- 
 fashioned and, moreover, am old besides. In my day 
 government had not dared to endow the unmarried 
 mother or contemplated giving the child born out of 
 wedlock legal rights and its father's name, and, in- 
 deed, I trust this may never be even now. Oh ! I know 
 the child cannot help it, but there is nothing but the 
 stigma to punish these unauthorized arrivals, and I 
 know that a baseborn infant has always some crook, 
 some twist in its nature, and that sooner or later it will 
 show. No, to have a good citizen we must have a good 
 stock, " do we gather grapes from thorns or figs from 
 thistles?" 
 
 The child born of purest love and passion, aye, 
 even passion, has a chance no unauthorized infant can 
 have : born of lawless, selfish desire, it is a danger to
 
 58 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 itself and the country, and never would I remove the 
 smallest atom of blame from either parents or child. 
 
 I did not say one-half of this to Claudia; but as the 
 maids were stirring I could leave the house with her 
 and talk over matters better in the Cottage, where, for 
 sure, such a thing had never happened in all its 
 hundred and fifty years of sober life. 
 
 Soon the town would awake and chatter, and I 
 would rather see Mrs. McCrae and hear of the patients 
 before I gave even the counsel that Claudia had come 
 to beg. The mother and child were asleep, and the 
 Cottage was very quiet when I crept up the stairs and 
 beckoned Mrs. McCrae out from the bedside. 
 
 A stern-faced woman, in workhouse gown and cap, 
 was left in charge for the nonce, for the parish nurse 
 was out at other cases, and this was the best the doctor 
 could do; but Mrs. McCrae owned herself baffled and 
 amazed. Her patient was married if a ring meant 
 anything, and she was a lady, if one could judge by 
 her clothes and the gentle way in which she had 
 accepted help and put all inquiries politely on one 
 side. How both had lived through the storm neither 
 doctor nor nurse could imagine; the infant had been 
 born in the train, and the indomitable mother had 
 staggered across the Causeway to the street where she 
 was expected, but failed to find the house in the mist 
 and rain, and in her weakness; and there she lay 
 asleep, apparently none the worse, though it was a 
 marvel, look at it how one would.
 
 FEBRUARY-A WAKING WORLD 59 
 
 The housekeeper was inclined to believe that 
 Providence had brought the woman to the green gate. 
 She was rather a fatalist, and a stern believer in that 
 ever-guiding hand. She was sure the workhouse was 
 not the place for her patient; later on she might, 
 perhaps, cross the road to the house where the children 
 were, but for her part she now sided with her bairn. 
 Best let matters be for the present, a nurse was coming 
 from Bournemouth, and Miss Claudia should have no 
 dealings with her until she knew what such an occur- 
 rence could possibly mean. 
 
 It was pleasant after the storm and stress of the 
 night to sit over Claudia's breakfast-table, and I 
 laughed to think that such a thing had not happened 
 to me for many and many a year. Breakfast and bed 
 had been my portion together for more years than I 
 could count, but even though I paid, as I knew I 
 should, for these strange happenings, it was good to 
 see once more a shining, spluttering urn, a beautiful 
 old silver coffee-pot, and all the paraphernalia of a 
 meal that had only meant a tray for me for the last 
 five-and-twenty years, if indeed it were not more. 
 What reserves of strength we women have to be sure, 
 and, indeed, if we are called on, there is little we 
 cannot do at the moment ! 
 
 We pay, of course, later on, and sometimes most 
 heavily too, but it is something to know that the word 
 " cannot " does not exist for us, and that we " can and 
 we wish " more than the stronger sex seems able to do.
 
 60 
 
 Few men are of use in a mental crisis : few women are 
 not, they can act then; they feel, aye, and fail after- 
 wards, and sometimes even die, but at the moment 
 they are able and willing and are indeed seen at their 
 very, very best. 
 
 Christian McCrae came in for orders for the day 
 as if nothing were out of the ordinary run, and she 
 even brought us word of the havoc the storm had 
 worked among McCrae's cherished shrubs and trees, 
 and she put Claudia's inquiries on one side, with 
 " Wait for the doctor, my lamb," while she beckoned 
 me out of the room once more and begged to be told 
 if we had eaten our breakfasts as we should. Re- 
 assured on this point, she allowed me to go upstairs 
 again and see her patient, who was awake and not as 
 well, she feared, as she could wish, and I went in. 
 I wished I had not, for I knew her and she knew me, 
 and it was not perhaps good for her that she should 
 at that moment feel that some one in the little town 
 knew her story from A to Z. If I could have felt 
 any one right in such a case as this, I should 
 have felt Beata right, and, indeed, I could not 
 wholly blame her, though I knew her foolishness was 
 great, but at any rate it was not a moment to pass 
 judgment or even blame her, and I took her hand, 
 and, bending low, kissed her anxious and furrowed 
 forehead. 
 
 " You will be safe here," I said, " and you must not 
 worry, the child is alive and well, and will live, and
 
 FEBRUARY-A WAKING WORLD 61 
 
 you must get well, then we can talk matters out. 
 Mrs. McCrae, your kindly nurse, believes in the 
 special leading of Providence, and you may be sure 
 whatever brought you to the green gate last night did 
 a wise deed. You need not trouble or fret ; Claudia is 
 one in a thousand, and she will understand." 
 
 I saw a tear gather in her eyes and fall softly on the 
 fine linen sheet, but she did not speak. Mrs. McCrae 
 raised her head with her calm and practised hand and 
 gave her milk to drink, and then she turned away on 
 her pillow and once more sank into a calm and 
 peaceful sleep. 
 
 " Strange," said I to Claudia, still seated by the 
 breakfast-table, "how things happen in this funny 
 world. I was at that girl's marriage, and for the life 
 of me I cannot think why she is here and in such a 
 case. Her husband is a crank of the deepest dye, but 
 a fine, rich fellow, and she has money and to spare. 
 Neither he nor she can object to children on the score 
 of expense, and I am as sure of Beata's morals as I 
 am of my own, so you need not worry, Claudia, you 
 have given shelter to one who will do you not the least 
 harm in the world." And so saying I made for home 
 and the bed that I should have occupied that long and 
 weary and most wakeful night. 
 
 February is to me of all months the most hopeful 
 in the year. Something stirs in the whole world, I 
 think the dead are nearer, even they move in their 
 beds and feel the breath that life is breathing through
 
 62 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 the erstwhile dark and frozen world. It is on such a 
 morning as always succeeds the first south-westerly 
 storm in Hamworth that Claudia and I set out to find 
 and greet the spring. Once I could walk as she does, 
 free and unfettered, now a stout pony takes us both 
 up the stiff and clayey roads towards the summit of the 
 giant hills. I can now tell Claudia all I know of 
 Beata, for she has spoken out. I do not know if she be 
 right or wrong ; anyhow, I am too old now-a-days to 
 judge any single soul; after all they are her children, 
 and she is at present, at any rate, at liberty to do as 
 she chooses with them. 
 
 I cannot help thinking that her husband is a trifle 
 mad, so many and so complicated are his fads, and so 
 often does he change the particular " ism " that for the 
 moment guides his wandering steps. 
 
 At the moment he is on his way to India, firmly 
 convinced that the worship of Buddha is the one way 
 of saving a most ridiculous soul, while he has passed 
 through the perils of Roman Catholicism, Quakerism, 
 Presbyterianism, Christian Science, and indeed I do 
 not know anything he has not tried; and as for his 
 diet, and that of poor Beata at times, it has ever been 
 of the most peculiar nature and does not always bear 
 thinking of. Fear of eating his grandmother, in the 
 shape of an ox, has kept him from meat : he will have 
 nothing of science, for science is sin, and if he had 
 known of, or had charge of, the children, Beata is 
 sure they would one and all have perished long before
 
 FEBRUARY-^A WAKING WORLD 63 
 
 they had the least chance of growing up. His 
 frequent absences from home alone, and his desire 
 that she should " live her own life " untrammelled by 
 nothing save the cord of love, which he supposed 
 bound them together, allowed her to conceal from him 
 the fact that she had these children, but she had 
 suffered so much from the last that she was determined 
 never to run such a risk again. 
 
 Unless he would promise to live the ordinary life 
 of an English gentleman she should leave him; for 
 twelve years she had put up with his vagaries, and now 
 she could bear no more. 
 
 Thankful am I that I was born before the rising 
 tides of fads engulfed the common sense of the 
 ordinary Briton, before every crank came over from 
 America and found willing victims in those who re- 
 semble the Athenians of old in craving ever after 
 some new thing. One of my oldest, dearest friends 
 had just fallen a victim to what is called Christian 
 Science, and at the moment I was ready to aid and 
 abet Beata to the utmost in keeping her children from 
 a similar fate. 
 
 When she told me that her spouse looked upon 
 doctors as men licensed to kill, that he hated every 
 advance made towards the elimination of disease, and 
 that even had he known of the children he would have 
 refused her medical aid, I was sure she was right. 
 Moreover, to him vaccination was an abomination, and 
 he would not have allowed her anything save a some-
 
 64 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 thing called a " Healer " should she or they be ill ; and 
 though I knew a good nurse and common sense are all 
 a child wants as a rule in its earliest days, the idea of 
 being compelled to rely on faith only was too much 
 for me, and I was determined to help Beata as much 
 as ever I could. 
 
 As we reached the object of our drive and looked 
 down over the beautiful, varied scene, February 
 seemed to us both to be full of hope. 
 
 I have often seen questions asked as to the where- 
 abouts of the most exquisite view in England, and for 
 the moment I feel sure that none can beat that which 
 one sees from the ridge of the hills which are best 
 known to me. I say for the moment advisedly, for 
 folk have found it out; bungalows, tents, and even 
 more permanent and larger buildings are rising in all 
 directions, and those who live long may see erections 
 even on the sacred summit of the hill itself ! In the 
 meantime we are content to gaze on the scene before 
 us, and almost wish ourselves back in the time when 
 the Romans tramped over the valley and fought an4 
 quarrelled on the plains below our standpoint; 
 but then Claudia suggests that we might find ourselves 
 among the combatants, and that at any rate we are 
 safer than in those long-dead times. 
 
 Meditating on Beata I wonder if we are, and even 
 then I am forced to allow that Claudia is right. Beata 
 could not have taken the children entirely away from 
 their father, though, as fads did not exist, perhaps she
 
 FEBRUARY A WAKING WORLD 65 
 
 would not have been obliged to do so to save herself, 
 them and their souls alive. 
 
 The whole air now is vocal with the newly-set-free 
 little brown streams that suddenly start in February 
 and run down to be absorbed in the many heath-set 
 pools that lie like jewels on the brown-clad moor. 
 Now and then a peewit calls, melancholy some folk 
 call the cry; I love it, for it speaks to me of spring 
 and the hidden nest, and the crouching, tiny birds that 
 only a sharp and accustomed eye will see later in the 
 ever-sameful, ever-changing, exquisite year ! 
 
 We leave our troubles behind us when we reach the 
 hill-top, and, indeed, I think this is the case meta- 
 phorically as well as in real life. 
 
 What a climb it has been from the days of child- 
 hood in the valley, when the heather was above our 
 heads and the gorse a golden barrier to be feared, and 
 not lightly attempted, up the first incline, then always 
 mounting, until we look back at the stones behind us, 
 which in truth are grave-stones, and mark the resting- 
 place of what we loved and lost, and, indeed, of all 
 we once were. I have always been so interested as I 
 travelled that I can never believe that I left youth and 
 even middle age so long behind, and, indeed, that fact 
 has never troubled me at all. I have never felt my 
 body anything save a prison, a drawback to all one 
 would have accomplished had it not given out; and 
 as we stand on the hill, I can almost believe that 
 some day I shall put it gaily off and start out untram-
 
 66 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 melled on an unfettered and everlasting journey of 
 joy! 
 
 I prose on to Claudia, and, as usual, find her a 
 willing victim to my endless talk, but to-day I feel that 
 she, too, has confidences to make. 
 
 The purple heath is beginning to wake, though of 
 course it gives no hint of flower yet, and here and 
 there splashes of gold speak of the never-failing, most 
 good-tempered gorse, and I mention hope and the 
 future of the world, and, indeed, of Claudia too. 
 Then in a moment she leans forward and says : " It 
 has come ! " and when I shiver at the idea of changes 
 and beg her to say more, she goes on, " the message, 
 my life-work. I shall mother Beata's children until 
 she can do her own part, and now I know why I came 
 to this particular spot in all England." 
 
 I was in the low carriage and Claudia sat on the 
 step, looking down on the beautiful valley, to the 
 harbour where the narrow, babbling river wanders out 
 between small islands and sandbanks in a most 
 deceiving way;: and she seemed to behold all her life 
 plainly stretched out before her. " I love children," 
 she said, " and shall never have any of my very own. 
 No, dear heart," she added, stopping my protest 
 before it was made ; " I know what I am about. I 
 recollect my father and his people far, far too well, 
 and indeed, I may say, my people, too, to dare to 
 reproduce their characteristics in my babe. Have you 
 not told me yourself how you trembled when you saw
 
 FEBRUARY A WAKING WORLD 67 
 
 Robert's sisters reappear now and again in your own 
 girls, and wondered if the fates of those sad, dreary 
 women would be reproduced ? " 
 
 " But they never were," I interrupted quickly. 
 " There was a sort of likeness that irked me, I own, 
 for vivid recollections of those females made life a 
 burden to me always, but I looked out for the faults 
 that marred their lives, and though facial resemblances 
 occur now and again, there is nothing else, and so far, 
 at least, they have escaped the family sorrows and the 
 family sins." 
 
 " But you never knew the Gresleys, and I did," said 
 Claudia, "the coarse, awful minds, the hideous sus- 
 picion of every one's motives, the frightful, ugly, 
 common faces, hands and feet. Nor the aptitude they 
 one and all had for lying. Why ! Sometimes I have 
 felt myself becoming suspicious, furtive, deceiving, 
 and it so maddened me to know I have the Gresley 
 blood in my veins. Suppose I reproduced my father, 
 the swearing, drinking horse-coper that he was ! mad 
 on horses, caring for nothing on earth save the odds 
 on some favourite : I should go wild." 
 
 " Where is the difference between him and sundry 
 members of the aristocracy I could name, Claudia ? " 
 I asked quietly; "how many of them have been ruined 
 by cards and betting, and in earlier days by drink as 
 well ? Your mother's own father was not immaculate, 
 and her grandfather was, if history speaks truly, a 
 venerable rip. Groom or guardsman, earl or com-
 
 68 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 moner, they are alike surely, if 'tis the turf you object 
 to only ; and as for the way life is looked at, we cannot 
 all regard it from the hill-top, until we reach it and 
 rest there awhile before we vanish from this earth and 
 are no more seen." 
 
 " I know all my mother endured," said Claudia, 
 "and I have no use for men at all. My mother told 
 me all that marriage meant, and once and for all I 
 raised an atmosphere of hate and fear between me and 
 it. I am Sainte Nitouche, dear friend ! I will be 
 myself, and never yield body and soul into the keeping 
 of any man on earth." 
 
 " Yet," replied I softly, " this is the mating month, 
 the birds are busy and the nests are being built : new 
 life is springing up on every hand; who are you to 
 deny life to those who might call you Mother, an' 
 you wish ? " 
 
 " I am myself," she said sternly, " and I will be 
 myself : inviolate, complete, until the end. I would 
 stop the world this instant if I could but place my 
 hand on the brake; the misery, pain, wickedness and 
 sorrow of it all breaks my heart, and I would I were 
 out of it all at times." 
 
 " At times, yes," I answered, " so would we all ; but 
 there are others, and life must go on in an ever- 
 broadening stream. Times are a thousandfold better 
 now-a-days than they were a hundred years ago : 
 education not the best, I own, but still education, 
 abounds ; the poor are not so poor, not so dismal or so
 
 FEBRUARY-A WAKING WORLD 69 
 
 wretched, and it seems to me that in another hundred 
 years, or even before that, slums will be cleared away : 
 men will walk and not creep, and women will refuse 
 to weep, as the poet thinks they must, but will smile 
 instead." 
 
 " I mean to see that some of your prophecies come 
 true," said Claudia, "and Beata's children shall be 
 taught the beauty of service and the debt they owe to 
 the world into which they have come. If I had children 
 I should long to see them have pleasures, fine clothes, 
 maybe, orthodox education, public schools, and all the 
 world says are the right things but I shall be sterner 
 with these babes, and knowing all, shall teach them as 
 they grow their duty to their neighbours above all else. 
 ' If,' said some old writer, ' we each kept our own door- 
 step clean and our house well managed, the world 
 would be saved ' ; at any rate I mean to try what I can 
 do. Hamworth may call me mad, I do not mind in the 
 least, you will help me, I know, and so let us return, 
 dear friend, to our workaday world in the valley 
 below." 
 
 The February sun was going down in the gap 
 beyond Lul worth, and there was just a hint of frost in 
 the clear, sweet air. Blue smoke climbed up into the 
 sky from the low-browed cottages about the heath that 
 told us of men returning from the day's work, and the 
 children from school, and the waiting wives preparing 
 the evening meal ; there was a scent of peat, of gorse ; 
 the sky was red, then golden, blue, and with a faint
 
 70 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 hint of green that reminded us that storms were still 
 possible, and as our little carriage rattled over the long 
 red causeway, we saw the first stars come out : hanging 
 from a silver thread and swinging calmly in the cold 
 and fragrant expanse of ever-changing sky.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 MARCH DAFFODILS 
 The year is fractious smiles and tears. 
 
 IN the clear March morning the heavy bell in the 
 church tower strikes out and tells me that some one 
 has died in the late night. It is always a dreadful 
 sound in mine ears, though I have never heard it toll 
 for any one for whom I have ever cared, but the weary 
 reiteration death death death ever spoils the day 
 for me, and I could wish the custom were more 
 honoured now-a-days in the breach than in the observ- 
 ance. How she clung to life, poor, foolish old 
 woman, say I, when I hear the name of her who has 
 gone; she was married, not too young either, the day 
 I was born, and though for many years she and I have 
 neither spoken nor visited, I have watched her climb 
 and climb until I wondered if she could be the same 
 meek, grateful creature who came first to Hamworth 
 so many, many years ago, and was so truly thankful 
 to be noticed by any one of the old stagers in the 
 little sombre town. 
 
 Fifty years ago something more than money was 
 required to break the charmed circle between the 
 " county " and the townf oik, and for years her 
 
 71
 
 72 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 humble efforts met with but small response. There 
 were those who objected to a lack of H's, a strong 
 Northern accent, and a lavishness of gifts that wel- 
 come as they were really, were fiercely resented by 
 those who could not return in kind. Yet now I know 
 she is dead, that her lace caps and beautiful French 
 bed-jackets cannot vex her visitors any more as did 
 her erstwhile costly gifts to folk she scarcely knew, 
 I begin to wonder if I have not judged her too harshly 
 after all. 
 
 Did our contemptuous refusal of her ill-arranged 
 invitations and presents hurt her as much as her stupid 
 lack of savoir-vivre hurt us, I wonder? Well! let 
 her rest, at any rate the waves have closed over her 
 very quickly, and once she is buried we shall never 
 hear her name any more. She has left neither chick 
 nor child behind her, and whoever lives in her hideous, 
 pompous house will speedily alter it, for in these days 
 no one would contemplate dwelling in an habitation 
 that resembles nothing so much as a church between 
 two Noah's Arks ! If she had only tuned the bells 
 before she went ! This heavy, dreary B flat beats on 
 my brain : the more, perhaps, because I disliked her 
 so, and because I am glad she will never vex me any 
 more by her many misguided benevolences, or by her 
 assumption of almost regal powers over places that 
 before she reached her greatest altitude we could 
 come and go to just as it beseemed us best. Did she 
 not close the dear old open heathway where we
 
 MARCH DAFFODILS 73 
 
 gathered the deep pink flowering rush, where the 
 cotton plant flourished and the sun-dew and the great 
 Cornish heath could be found, where the plovers 
 nested and the first signs of spring were ever to be 
 discovered by those who knew? I wonder if the 
 curious, deep-red violets I have never seen elsewhere 
 still grow on the turf -banks, or if she rooted them up 
 when all was made so tidy and trim the sight thereof 
 makes one's eyes fairly ache ? Can one find the lovely- 
 scented white violets beyond the gate, and the clumps 
 of red-berried butcher's broom still ? and oh ! will 
 the bounds be relaxed, and can we once more walk 
 down the gorse-bound lanes so long, so long denied 
 to us, one and all? It will be an early Easter this 
 year, and once more I wonder if the sacred wood, 
 closed since she slipped into the magic circle of the 
 landowners, will be open to us? How long is it, I 
 ponder, since we went there on a Good Friday to 
 gather daffodils and primroses for the adornment of 
 the church ? As far as I am concerned it is more than 
 five-and-thirty years ago, but I can see the delicate, 
 dancing, golden flowers, as if they were before me, 
 and smell the sweet, damp earth as we tear up the 
 moss, the exquisite fern-moss, which one only found 
 there and in Holme Lane, the lane of all others, the 
 home of beauty, which even the iconoclastic twentieth 
 century has not yet begun to spoil ! 
 
 Even as the bell booms heavily through the crisp 
 March air, I can go back to our last expedition to that
 
 74 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 wood : I, who am the sole survivor of that laughing, 
 heedless group of women and girls. Alice has gone, 
 she lies in alien soil in an alien grave; my dear and 
 pretty, kindly aunt, who drove us to our destination, 
 gravely pondering if flowers in the church at Easter 
 were not one long step towards the hated and dreaded 
 domination of Rome, lies asleep, her work well and 
 truly done and Bessie, who was not of our particular 
 " ism," yet had a touch we none of us could emulate, 
 is a handful of cinders; but of her more later, at 
 present the wound is too fresh to be touched, and I 
 mourn for her as I, alas ! have so often mourned for 
 opportunities lost and friends passed suddenly on the 
 other side. Was Crystal there that day? I think she 
 was : she loved flowers as few others did, and she had 
 the " gardener's touch " that bids every plant root, and 
 then bloom at her behest": well, if she were, it is thirty- 
 eight years, not thirty-five, for in October she will have 
 been dead all those years : dead, because her parents 
 were maniacs, to all intents and purposes, and could 
 not see the danger that was in their midst. Faddists 
 before the time of fads ; three of their children suffered 
 for their idiosyncrasies, and yet how I loved the 
 mother ! Ever gay, ever laughing, cleverer than any 
 woman of her time, I was her staunch and truest friend, 
 and to me she turned, girl as I was, when Crystal 
 fell ill and I took on myself the thing she dare not 
 do, and called in the old doctor, whose visit in the nick 
 of time saved the inquest that would otherwise have
 
 MARCH-DAFFODILS 75 
 
 been imperative, and made their name a byword in 
 a place that had never been too friendly to them at 
 any time of their lives ! 
 
 The severance that creeds made in the country is 
 not as marked now-a-days as it was then : neither is 
 the observance of Sunday the same. Even the dress 
 is changed. It would have been a bold soul who was 
 seen in the Hamworth streets on a Sunday in his or 
 her everyday garb ; the cult of the tall hat was extreme, 
 and bonnets adorned the feminine heads, one and all. 
 True, the tall hats lived to be years out of fashion, and 
 came once more into it, uncared about by the wearers, 
 but who dons one now? I vow I watched the 
 present oldest inhabitant walk to church last Sunday, 
 and he wore a short coat and soft hat, while his more 
 than mature spouse sported a toque and looked re- 
 markably nice in it as well. There will be a good deal 
 of talk in the porch next Sunday, for they will one 
 and all discuss this latest death : the Parson in terror 
 lest his schools and subscription list should fade and 
 die, and the others because they will miss the heavy 
 old carriage and the stout and shrouded figures of the 
 three old sisters, for the eldest being gone, the others 
 will leave the town, she had her husband's money, 
 and that reverts, as indeed it should, to his family, 
 while they will scratch along on what little they saved 
 and the pittance that was their own. 
 
 Poor, old, stout, ancient, worn-out dames ! I am 
 sorry for them; at any rate, they will not enjoy their
 
 76 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 release from the toils, because they have been in them 
 too long not to miss the down-beds and the flesh-pots, 
 which doubtless mean more at eighty odd, than the 
 liberty they have so long gone without. Ah ! the bell 
 has stopped at last; there will be a muffled peal when 
 she is buried, and another hour of tolling when she 
 takes her last journey, after that 'twill be dust to dust, 
 a few flowers, no tears, and she will soon be forgotten. 
 
 The month was a week older when I heard the wood 
 was free to us, once and all for evermore, coals of 
 fire indeed to me, at any rate; for in an excess of 
 Christian charity she had left me custodian, with power 
 to hand on the office to whosoever I pleased. Trippers 
 pur et simple, if trippers can ever be one or the other, 
 are excluded, and so are unaccompanied folk under 
 the age of twenty-one. Truly the venerable dame 
 showed some sense here, for after those years are 
 reached one gathers with discretion, and does not drag 
 up roots and all and throw them away, neither does 
 one trample down hedges and ferns and flowers, but 
 moves circumspectly, and merely takes what one really 
 and truly requires, and no more. 
 
 There is also, oh, generously inclined spirit ! a 
 legacy to enable the keeper of the wood, which is now 
 my title, I find, to plant sundry bulbs yearly, to clear 
 out the hateful cow-parsley, and treat the trees with 
 common sense ; birds are to find a sanctuary there, and 
 she, in whom I never found one sympathetic trait, has 
 shown herself most sympathizing with my dearest
 
 MARCH DAFFODILS 77 
 
 delight. I have judged her wrongly, and the first 
 daffodils shall lie on her new grave and tell her I take 
 back the scoffing words, the unkind thoughts, which I 
 have so very liberally bestowed upon her all through 
 the last long forty years or more, since she and I first 
 met, and meeting, disliked mutually, and mutually, 
 too, disapproved. 
 
 Shall I go alone to the wood in my old age and 
 confront my ghosts alone, or shall I take Claudia ? I 
 dare not go by myself, there are too many memories 
 held in the charming, scented place. I was but a 
 child when I went there first with the dearest cleric 
 in the world, dead these many, many years, if dead 
 can be he who lives in our hearts as if we parted only 
 yesterday. I can hear him whistle up the great red 
 setters, and then give my own particular call still, and 
 in fancy I am down the stairs and through the square 
 hall to the kennels, and we are off ! 
 
 " Breakfast at nine-thirty," says some one out of 
 a window over the porch; but we have each a hunch 
 of home-baked bread and an apple or two, and break- 
 fast has small charm for us at the moment. 
 
 The keeper's wife is ill, the Parson must go : must 
 come at once; bread, pills and chalk mixtures go into 
 his wide pockets poachers' pockets, we call them 
 and we are away. Kent and Kate bound about, but 
 they are whistled up; it is March, and they must go 
 warily. One does not want to disturb love-making 
 among the birds, so disappointedly they walk behind,
 
 78 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 one moist nose in my hand and one in the Vicar's, and 
 the dogs appear as if they could not bound to save 
 their lives. I do not like the keeper's cottage much, 
 as close beside it was the "keeper's tree," jays, 
 squirrels, stoats, and even the darling owl are among 
 the corpses nailed as trophies on the maltreated bark. 
 I have seen a splendid black-and-white magpie ex- 
 tended there, while, of course, rooks are common. It 
 is a loathly sight, and one, I am thankful to say, that 
 is now seldom seen, I hear, even in that beloved spot. 
 A keeper is ruthless, if he be mere keeper, and nothing 
 is a bird to him, unless it is for sport, the rest are 
 vermin; but now the wood is a sanctuary, and shall be 
 kept so, even though the white-tailed eagle returns, 
 or, rather, a similar one to that that came for several 
 years here to the same tree, unchecked until he grew 
 over-bold and over-greedy. He not only struck and 
 killed the wild-fowl to eat, but at last, merely to obtain 
 the special portions of each that he fancied; this was 
 too much ; at first they endeavoured to alarm him away 
 by firing, but he was contemptuously immovable, not 
 having known the power of the gun, so with great 
 regret he was shot and killed. A magnificent fellow 
 he was too, and now, stuffed and preserved, he stands 
 in a museum near by, where all may see him, to witness 
 to the truth of the tales that I tell ! 
 
 The sweet, blue-grey peat smoke was climbing up 
 into the still March air while I waited for the Vicar, 
 and the keeper's mongrel crew of dogs squirmed and
 
 MARCH-DAFFODILS 79 
 
 fawned round our noble, well-born beasts, which con- 
 temptuously accepted their homage, only turning them 
 over now and again with a large, red-feathered paw 
 did they come an inch too close ; then the keeper comes 
 out : the missus hasn't anything the Vicar can't deal 
 with, and he hints at temper and matrimonial strife. 
 What wonder that the village doctor will not come 
 seven miles across the heath unless the Vicar "gives 
 a bit of a note." " I vow," he says, laughing, " they 
 send for that poor chap when they are merely dull." 
 I wonder now what they will do under this deadly 
 Insurance Act, which is destroying the old, kindly 
 relations between class and class, and mistress and 
 maid, and that is driving us one and all into residential 
 hotels, where neither taxes nor rates can trouble us, 
 save indirectly; and the weary housekeeper will find 
 rest at last ! 
 
 Claudia came in as I was dreaming over my legacy, 
 and at once pounced on the formal account of the 
 fact, which I held out to her speechlessly, for at present 
 I could not speak of all that the wood meant to me, 
 even at my age. She understood; but, then, when 
 did she ever misunderstand? She is a very thought 
 reader where she loves, as I know she loves me, and 
 waves from her brain to mine pass daily and nightly, 
 and I never really want her badly, but she is bound 
 to come in. Dear child ! she has heard me speak of 
 the wood, and my ancient feud with the upstart dame : 
 and she knows what this must mean, and at last I say,
 
 80 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 "When shall we go, Claudia? I don't like your 
 motor, as you know, but it's seven good miles away, 
 a rough road across the heath, over Great Ovens 
 (corruption, I take it, of great open downs) and down 
 the other side, past the decoy, and then there we are at 
 its very gates, the keys of which are here, and were I 
 rich I vow that I would e'en copy them for my own 
 use in the purest gold." 
 
 " Iron is good enough," said Claudia gaily. " It is 
 a ' mak' sporten ' day, as they say in these parts. Why 
 not go now? There is a gallant south-west wind 
 blowing down the valley from the hills and the sea : 
 I found daffodils in the corner by the greenhouse, just 
 before I came out, and Beata has them they will 
 hearten her, poor soul, for the mail from India is due 
 to-night, or to-morrow, and that, you know, is never 
 the happiest time. Moreover" and here she bent 
 down and whispered " I think I heard the cuckoo at 
 Bestwall : and if that be so the spring is here, and 
 we have not an hour to lose before entering into 
 possession of your kingdom." 
 
 I laughed aloud. " Some boy some horrid boy," 
 I answered. "Ah! how often has that trick been 
 played on us before ! The cuckoo comes on Ham- 
 worth fair day a month ahead, no self-respecting bird 
 ever came before, of that I am certain." But all the 
 same, the spring is well on the way. Look at my 
 crocuses and scillas, and listen; ore can hear a drowsy 
 bee now and again; they scent the summer, and are
 
 MARCH-DAFFODILS 81 
 
 out and about, while as for the sparrows, had it not 
 been for my black cotton I swear I should not have a 
 yellow flower left. It is an unsolved problem why 
 they always eat the yellow flowers first, even the poly- 
 anthus suffers from them, and I cannot think why 
 sparrows were made : they are the gutter brats of the 
 bird world, and had I my way they should, one and 
 all, cease to exist." 
 
 " Have you ever watched them chase the green fly 
 from the roses?" asked Claudia. "Perhaps that is 
 their raison d'etre, and, after all, we have black cotton 
 and string netting and can keep them at bay, though I 
 own I hate them mightily, for they have chased away 
 the martins from under my eaves, I hear, and I must 
 work some enchantment somehow to get them back 
 once more." 
 
 ' They have even driven them from here, too," I 
 sighed ; " and the starlings I cannot help loving, so 
 neat and natty are they, so jaunty in their walk, and 
 so shining and slim in the sunshine, and so amusing 
 in their attempts at speech, have driven them away 
 from Redcliff, and they now build about the cliffs by 
 old Harry's rocks. So I, too, will join you in your 
 incantations, Claudia; but now, how about the 
 wood?" 
 
 The useful, hateful telephone called up the equally 
 useful and hateful motor, and wellnigh buried in 
 furs and rugs we are swiftly on our way, yet not too 
 
 swiftly. The cross is difficult to negotiate, for there 
 F 
 
 *
 
 82 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 four roads meet, and leisurely labourers, to say nothing 
 of equally leisurely pigs, dogs and cats and stray 
 children do not recognize our right to the road : and 
 then comes Martin's Pitch. Here the children have, 
 or had, an awful habit of running down one side of 
 the walls, across the road, and up the other side of 
 the walls, generally driving a hoop. I trust motors 
 have done more to check this habit than horses ever 
 did or could, and while I glance at the old Saxon 
 church on the elevation above us, and recollect the 
 ancient doctor and his wife who died of " typhus 
 faviour," and were buried there long before I was born, 
 Claudia looks out for squalls. But none come, and 
 we bowl over the Causeway, while I recollect how in 
 my youth I used to walk here to see our one express 
 dash through, and saw in it my link with London and 
 life; and how once, when the meadows were flooded, 
 we picked out our Irish curate from the ditch and 
 thought him the victim of accident. Alas ! it was 
 alcohol, and long after he died, disgraced, poor crea- 
 ture, a man of manifold gifts and attributes, who might 
 have ended at York or Canterbury, had not the drink 
 been his curse and laid him low in more senses of the 
 word than one ! How well I recollect the road, the 
 grave of more than one fortune, more than one reputa- 
 tion : on the left were once the remains of a factory 
 that was to resurrect the trade of Hamworth, and make 
 shale the staple trade of the town. Marshal Pelissier 
 came down to open it ; I was too young then to know 

 
 MARCH-DAFFODILS 83 
 
 how or why he came, and, indeed, in those days Ham- 
 worth was not even a name to me; but I have often 
 heard the tale since, and how folk were ruined by 
 the evil-smelling stuff. Then came the gaunt pottery 
 chimney, the landmark for miles round. Alack ! the 
 shale would not heat the ovens, and stank aloud to 
 heaven. It was cheaper to take the fine china clay 
 to the coal than the coal to the clay, so the fine china 
 was never made, and now humble drain-pipes and 
 tiles are manufactured instead, and no doubt flourish 
 exceedingly, though I, for one, do not admire the 
 factory, and resent the presence thereof on the fine and 
 open heath. 
 
 But now Claudia must drive with care, for here is 
 Great Ovens, a hill that seems either to ascend to 
 the clouds or descend into the bowels of the earth, 
 according to the way one is going. I look back at 
 the hills, the sweet, clear March sky is a feast of life 
 and light, and then comes the sombre heath, and we put 
 on speed; there is a long, straight road and not one 
 soul on it for miles, so away we go, and I almost think 
 I like the gallant, spinning wheels that flash us on 
 our way. 
 
 Alas ! for my youth and my dear, brown ponies, for 
 surely they were swift enough for me, in all conscience, 
 then ! What would I give, I wonder, to meet Brownie 
 once more and canter off alone to see one whom I can 
 never, never see again, but whose memory hangs about 
 every inch of the way. For this led to her home, as
 
 84 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 it now leads to her quiet grave that I have never seen. 
 Now I shall see it in Claudia's motor, so I say no 
 more about it, for all my friends lie in scattered church- 
 yards, and I must stand for a minute by each silent 
 bed. Who knows that the roses, sprung from their 
 once-beloved bodies, may not hear me, may not carry 
 a message that will tell them somehow that I, at least, 
 never can nor will forget? 
 
 Oh ! it is spring : let me repeat that even though 
 I know it cannot bring back one thing, one person, 
 I have ever loved and lost. Before we started out 
 Claudia called my attention to the chestnut-trees over 
 the rectory wall. Ah ! truly the brown, sticky buds 
 that were visible, even when the leaves fell in autumn, 
 were swelling and promising us fresh foliage, but yet 
 I was sad. 
 
 Their new life was pushing off the old, new leaves 
 would come, were coming, but they were not the same. 
 These had gone in October to nourish the soil in 
 which they were now incorporated at the roots. " So 
 it may be with us, Claudia," said I; "life goes on, 
 goes on, goes on : but we do not return ; indeed, I 
 would not if I could. All the same, I want my friends 
 and those dearer still, who are in the silence and will 
 not come, call I ever so loud to them in the silence of 
 the dark and empty night." 
 
 Claudia will not let me brood, and has but small 
 patience with our tender ghosts ; she is sure that what 
 comes will be for the best, and she troubles not at all
 
 MARCH-DAFFODILS 85 
 
 about a future life. After all, it does not matter, we 
 cannot know, best make all we can of this one, do all 
 we can for others, and so pass on. 
 
 " What shadows we are ! " Yes, truly, but no need 
 to pursue shadows; there is real work to do in the 
 world even if only to watch the lovely flowers we 
 knew and loved so in the beloved wood. 
 
 We stop on the heath to look for the bog myrtle, 
 but do not find it, for September is the month it is 
 out at its best, and at last come to the high, white, 
 wooden gates. 
 
 It is fiercely barred and guarded with barbed wire, 
 and padlocked strongly against intruders from the 
 world outside; but Claudia's motor hoots, and I try 
 my old silver whistle, and presently the slouching, 
 sulky keeper opens the gate for us and we go in. I 
 call Guppy the keeper, but he is none in the wisest 
 meaning of the word, he is merely the servant of our 
 dead acquaintance, and has none of the wood-lore 
 or knowledge that makes a keeper one of the best of 
 men with whom to prowl and talk. He is not of the 
 county either, but has come down from the North 
 "maimed in master's work," says he, as he shows us 
 a crippled arm and a withered hand, and a leg that 
 cannot take him very far : and, of course, he is now 
 naturally afraid of receiving what he calls " the sack." 
 He has been rude and surly now and again to me in 
 years gone by, but really I respected him for his 
 obedience to orders, and his flat refusal to contem-
 
 86 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 plate a bribe. There shall be no sack yet awhile 
 for Guppy, and he can keep out the " trippers " and 
 the infants as enjoined by the will, only giving free 
 access to those to whom I may graciously present a 
 pass. But we must have skilled help too : the trees 
 are crowded together, elbowing each other in the most 
 disastrous way, and the paths are overgrown, the 
 decoys unfit for use, and nothing is left, save the 
 dancing daffodils, the clumps of primroses and the 
 white wind-flowers that are just coming into bloom in 
 one of the few sunny spots. 
 
 I climb with Claudia the little knoll in the centre 
 of the wood, and all the past and the sorrows and 
 joys of life seem repeated as the pine-trees move and 
 whisper among their scented silence. We do not 
 speak; I recollect; Claudia looks about her; speech 
 would profane this spot, and the pine-trees have it all 
 their own way, until presently we hear steps some- 
 thing comes : and then over the brow of the knoll 
 come trotting a couple of tiny, fairy-like roe-deer. 
 It is years since I saw them, and how glad I am to 
 meet them once again. ,We sit silently, then I move, 
 and they are off and away in a moment, though I feel 
 they are still somewhere in the charming wood. What 
 would I not give now for the Vicar and his small and 
 ever-handy axe ! How he would delight to blaze the 
 trees which must disappear to allow room for others 
 to breathe and grow, and how he would advise us how 
 best to proceed in order to keep the place a sanctuary
 
 MARCH DAFFODILS 87 
 
 for all that is best in bird-, or beast-, or flower-life ! But 
 he is gone, and I must e'en find some one else skilled 
 in wood-lore, and that before it is too late ! 
 
 The sap is rising, all the trees have that faint brown 
 glint that means life is stirring in their veins, or bark, 
 if veins they have not ; still I cannot waste time, some 
 must go, and as Guppy knows not one tree from 
 another, and is only intent on his three meals a day 
 and his pension, I wonder if he would not be content 
 in the town, and leave the cottage free for a man who 
 has country-lore, and does not fear the dark, lone 
 winter and the soft, grey autumn days. 
 
 But where find the man? Guppy jumps at the idea 
 at once ; he'd have married, he says, withered arm and 
 one leg and all, only he'd not ask a woman to share 
 his lonely lot. Now to find our man, and having 
 gathered a votive offering for the stiff, new grave in 
 Hamworth churchyard, and promised ourselves a 
 grand picking in another week or two, I turn my 
 back on the past and Claudia, all unknowing, on the 
 future. The motor grunts and expostulates, but 
 responds to her touch, and we return by another road, 
 because I have told Claudia that with the smallest 
 amount of luck and a vast quantity of faith we may 
 hear and indeed see the far-famed de Turbeville coach ! 
 Now this phantom vehicle is wrongly placed by some 
 at Woolbridge House, for I have yet to find any one 
 who has ever seen or heard the ghostly thing near that 
 special place. I have heard what might be taken for
 
 88 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 it, and others beside myself have both heard and seen 
 it on the clear, open road before us : it starts suddenly 
 up, drives at a furious pace along the dusty highway, 
 with a tremendous clatter of chains and a swish of 
 cloud, crosses the road by the wood, and makes for a 
 sad, old house within a sheltering space of heather, 
 fields and pine-trees, goes helter-skelter into the drive, 
 and then disappears utterly, until some forthcoming 
 trouble to the haunted family arouses it, when it once 
 more dashes round to disappear again, until a similar 
 occasion calls it forth once more. We are not lucky 
 this afternoon, and no coach appears; and why it 
 should haunt that house none can say. I have known 
 of three or four separate families in it, none have been 
 either lucky or happy, none had, as far as I can find 
 out, one drop of de Turbeville blood in their veins, 
 but the house claims its victims, and I, for one, would 
 not live there for all I could be given in cash or kind ! 
 "All houses where men have lived and died are 
 haunted houses.'' Yes, i' faith, and I know that where 
 evil has been done evil stays, and where goodly and 
 pleasant folk have lived it is well to follow. A better 
 soul than I says that prayer hallows a church and good 
 lives hallow a home ; it may be so : a house I know does 
 absorb the personality of those who live within the 
 walls; but a church? How, then, account for the 
 clerics one has known, the frivolous, foolish, best- 
 bonneted congregations ? Ah ! perhaps the voice 
 ascends, " the prayer remains below : prayers without
 
 MARCH-DAFFODILS 89 
 
 faith cannot to heaven go." I am not sure of my 
 quotation, but 'tis near enough to point my moral. 
 Only the old, old churches are hallowed, and even 
 these now-a-days appear to be losing much of their 
 old-time power and charm. The dearest, tiny church 
 in the world is being vulgarized by electric light. I 
 recollect when it was indeed peace to creep in there 
 in semi-darkness, a flickering candle or two on the 
 altar and organ, and, perhaps, by the squire's pew, 
 were all we wanted then. It was an enchanted place, 
 even in midwinter, for then one turned out across the 
 crisped fields under a moonlit sky, studded with 
 enormous glittering stars, to rustle along amidst the 
 dried leaves in the lane, and felt that one had had 
 for awhile commune with some one not quite as were 
 the folk of every day. 
 
 Claudia has a long, clear road before her, and only 
 one turn, and at last, because I do not speak, begins to 
 talk. 
 
 " I have an idea," she said gaily. " Why not try 
 for some elderly scholar for your wood? You can 
 afford a curate's pay and the cottage, and the garden 
 and wood are occupations after many a man's heart. 
 There is the Field nay, I would even try a Church 
 paper, your beloved Vicar is not the only man who loves 
 creatures ; perchance we may come across his prototype, 
 a younger, more energetic soul, up to date, if such an 
 odious expression be allowed, and you and I may have 
 some one who will understand us and the wood, and
 
 90 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 not think us mad if we talk of dryads and wood 
 nymphs and the myriad happy creatures lesser natures 
 than ours call birds and beasts and flowers." 
 
 " Lesser natures ! You have a good conceit of 
 ourselves," said I, laughing. "Well, indeed I do 
 think, at any rate, you have an idea. I often see the 
 most wonderful advertisements from young men who 
 want money to set them on their way rejoicing, and 
 from older ones crowded out in the race for wealth. 
 Let us frame our advertisement warily, it may catch 
 our naturalist. At any rate, we can but try ; we need 
 name no names, or even places, and shall have, without 
 fail, much amusement over the replies that will no 
 doubt come our way." 
 
 An old man was barred at once : he must walk and 
 not require too much help, for if he did his salary 
 would surfer ; and yet how tempt a young man to come 
 to our assistance in the wilds ? 
 
 Providence, who so often calls trumps when least 
 expected, brought me the day's paper and one of the 
 advertisements at which I had all too often scoffed : 
 flat-catchers, thieves' messages, all the opprobrious 
 names invented, we had called them, laughing together 
 the while, but at any rate one could do no harm in 
 replying guardedly to the one that met my eye 
 
 " A young man, energetic and in good health, but 
 poor; an orphan, and cruelly maimed by an accident, 
 seeks employment, preferably in the country. 
 Apply " Could anything be easier or more to
 
 MARCH DAFFODILS 91 
 
 the point. The maimed might mean his beauty was 
 spoiled or an arm twisted; anyhow, I replied with 
 Claudia beside me, and begged for particulars, and 
 if possible for a photograph. Next day the impor- 
 tunate telephone shrilled out a trunk call : it was from 
 our young man. Unless I objected, he would come 
 and see me; personal interviews were best, and as I 
 agreed, I awaited the adventure with some little 
 trepidation on my part. Suppose he were a murderer, 
 a thief : suppose a thousand things ; but it was neither 
 one nor the other who came up the lane, and rang, 
 somewhat imperiously, I thought, at my never-used 
 front-door bell. I looked up in surprise at the sound, 
 and saw standing in the doorway a tall fellow, 
 evidently a gentleman, but whose garments appeared 
 as if they had been slept in many a night and oft, 
 and whose face bore the impress of hard times and 
 sore want. 
 
 Cruelly maimed ! Why, he was as v straight as an 
 arrow, and all his limbs were perfect ; what, then, did 
 the advertisement mean? I wished Claudia would 
 come, but she was engrossed for the moment by sick- 
 ness in Beata's family, and I had not liked to claim 
 her unfailing help; so all I could do was to beg my 
 visitor to enter and seat himself, where I should have 
 a fair view of his pale and haggard countenance. 
 
 ' You must tell me your story and show me your 
 credentials," I said firmly, as he sank into a chair; 
 but as he did not reply, I looked up. My eligible
 
 92 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 young man had fainted dead away, and here truly was 
 a pretty kettle of fish. To send for good Dr. Paul 
 meant gossip for Hamworth for a month at least; for 
 once I had to act unaided, and it took me small time to 
 see that lack of food was the immediate cause of the 
 trouble, and broth and warmth and the usual remedies 
 soon brought him back to his normal state. 
 
 I was sure, too, that I had seen the man before and 
 under very different circumstances; his face brought 
 back to me a vision of a hot July day, a shouting crowd 
 and fine dresses, school-boys ah ! I had it : it was a 
 cricket match, and here was the hero then he who now 
 was "cruelly maimed" and sadder and more under 
 water than I ever want to see a man again. 
 
 Bit by bit my memory returned, and I recollected it 
 all. Lucius had been brought up in luxury to believe 
 himself heir not only to an estate but a title and an 
 honest name : the blow fell in his college days. 
 Sudden death cast him nameless and penniless on an 
 unfaithful world : the blow that shattered his belief in 
 man and threw him down fell before he had even a 
 start in life. Ten years had gone by since the day his 
 father died, and the heir came armed with authority and 
 the pleasing word " bastard " to his new inheritance. 
 What had been his record, I wondered ; how had those 
 long ten years been spent? I had heard rumours, of 
 course, of dare-devil valour in the South African War, 
 and then of gradual decline owing to fever and some 
 said drink. His life had been stormy, unbalanced.
 
 MARCH DAFFODILS 93 
 
 Could he at thirty redeem the past, I wondered ; would 
 it be wise to land him in that lonely cottage, neither 
 fish, flesh nor fowl as far as society went, and 
 alone to face his demon, if demon indeed he really 
 had? 
 
 "How cruelly maimed?" I asked at last, for look 
 as I would, I could see small trace of aught but want 
 and hard fare. 
 
 Alas ! Then I saw he had but two fingers on one 
 hand and his right thumb was missing, and that, more- 
 over, he was the possessor of a glass eye ! 
 
 " Yet that is not what I meant," he said. " I recol- 
 lect you and the boys and the playing fields, and I 
 see you remember me. It was different, was it not, 
 when we last met? Then your lads worshipped me 
 and looked up to me as a hero. I wonder what they 
 would say if they could see me now? " 
 
 " One is not," I said softly ; " and you know what he 
 would say, I am certain, for you and he were friends. 
 But tell me the truth. Is there the least reason why I 
 should not put you in charge of the wood ? Recollect, 
 you will be much, much alone. There is the long, 
 dark winter to face." 
 
 " I have been a fool," he broke in, " but never any- 
 thing more. I started out, I tell you frankly, devil- 
 wards once, but I did not find the atmosphere con- 
 genial. I don't drink, for I do not like the stuff, and I 
 want peace, a home and time to write, maybe, anyhow, 
 to be sure of food and shelter, and I love creatures
 
 94 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 and the country, and I am not afraid. All I am afraid 
 of," he added sombrely, "is a winter similar to the 
 last. The Embankment at night, dirt, rags, hunger 
 and the river, the insistent voice that called to me, even 
 in my sleep, if sleep it could be reckoned. Then the 
 old days came back and jeered the school oh ! even 
 my nursery and my people : at least, the folk I thought 
 were mine. I have been in hell, a thousand times; 
 give me a chance, and I will take care that I do not 
 lose it, once I have it again." 
 
 " How did you manage to reach Hamworth ? " asked 
 I in wonder. 
 
 " I humbled myself to the man who has my place, 
 and showed him your letter without a moment's loss 
 of time. He paid for the telephone call, my fare, and 
 gave me a few shillings over and some old clothes, 
 and he would have done more, but he has a wife, and 
 she loathes me and what I stand for; and, besides, I 
 can't forgive him for the way he turned me out. Of 
 course, he was within his rights, but I'd have given 
 him them if he had but been kind ; all the same, he had 
 something on his side, but that I did not know then." 
 
 I, who could recollect the whole miserable story and 
 who, moreover, remembered the gallant lad I had last 
 seen as a conquering hero in the blaze of a splendid 
 July day, could say nothing. Later on we might dis- 
 cuss the question, but oh ! how it hurt me to recollect ! 
 At any rate, if he were content with the wood I could 
 but try him, and books and papers and such solace as 
 I could afford him would be at his call.
 
 MARCH DAFFODILS 95 
 
 What would Claudia say ? Her passion for wounded 
 creatures was a guarantee for her agreement, I knew; 
 and, after all, it was my wood and he would be my 
 keeper. I was old enough, thank goodness, to put 
 him up for the night, and, indeed, until his own place 
 could be made ready, and that first evening I heard 
 much of the dreadful times he had had after that 
 wicked and most disastrous war was over and done 
 with. He had worked at anything he could get in 
 South Africa, but the Kaffir question made it well- 
 nigh impossible for him to accept manual labour. 
 Why does Providence allow such suffering, I wonder} 
 Whose fault was it that Lucius, reared in luxury and 
 turned suddenly out of house and home and name, 
 could not make a decent living once the war was over, 
 and the berth he obtained was niched from him by 
 an enterprising Dutchman favoured by the " Govern- 
 ment," where Dutchmen predominated and took care 
 of their own folk in a manner our men did not do 
 for those who fought and bled all through those two 
 horrible years. 
 
 Why did the legal heir discover the bend sinister 
 on Lucius' shield? His father thought to protect his 
 son by making no will, but his secret was, after all, 
 a secret de Polichinelle. Every one knew, save his 
 victim; and so is life made and marred before the 
 owner of that life comes to birth unknowing but fated 
 from the instant of conception to a parlous fate. 
 
 I shivered as I heard what it meant to be absolutely 
 penniless and hungry in the London streets: the
 
 96 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 choice between the Embankment and the charity 
 shelter, or even the workhouse. Ah ! No more 
 should Lucius join the ragged brigade; surely he 
 would love the wood, and be not too maimed to see 
 to my trees and the birds and creatures to whom it 
 was to be a sanctuary. 
 
 I soon saw that rest and food would make him 
 another man, and even Guppy did not scowl on him 
 when they met and promised him all the lore he had, 
 which was not much, and instructions, which were 
 many to those who knew better than he did about the 
 woods. Then there were books to be borrowed, and 
 meeting my old friend Mr. Julius Beevor at the Cross, 
 I begged him to help me. No one knows more about 
 trees than he does, no one cares more for the country- 
 side, and though a bend sinister to him is anathema 
 maranatha, he walked over the ground with Lucius 
 and forgave him his birth because of his breed, his 
 public school, two medals and scars. 
 
 Indeed, I truly think his school came first with 
 Mr. Beevor; a more than masonic bond is that of the 
 old school, and who who recollects and realizes this 
 will dare to cavil at the education given within those 
 hallowed walls ? Not I, for one, though in my heed- 
 less youth I have done so, as I have done many another 
 idiotic deed, but I know better now, and had I lads to 
 educate I would starve verily to pass them through 
 that splendid mill, for nothing else, look at it how one 
 will, turns out such men : masters of themselves and 
 of the whole crew outside the charmed circle.
 
 MARCH DAFFODILS 97 
 
 Claudia was rather inclined to stand on her dignity, 
 but Lucius was too intent on his new work to notice 
 her at all, and once I had handed him over to Mr. 
 Beevor I stood aloof too. Claudia and her new family 
 cares called for me at the moment, for Beata was in 
 despair. Her idiot of a husband had declared for 
 Buddhism, and intended, so he said, to stay where he 
 was, to become a mystic and to give all his worldly 
 goods to the furtherance of his present ideas. And 
 Beata loved him ! Truly there are some strange and 
 wondrous happenings in this little world of ours now- 
 a-days !
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 APRIL TENDER MEMORIES 
 
 I HAD never thought to be busy again outside my 
 own demesne, but since Claudia came into my life 
 it seems that I am young and active, at all events in 
 mind once more. It is difficult to go on the same jog- 
 trot way when every morning something fresh occurs, 
 or my help is demanded, or the stores of memory are 
 unlocked, and so I am fain to confess my age must 
 not be mentioned, and I and Claudia are about the 
 same as regards length of years. 
 
 At the moment Beata and her bairns are a real 
 problem to us both : and Beata, who had carefully 
 concealed the children's birth lest their father's fads 
 should doom them to an untimely death, is fain to tell 
 him of their existence, but at last we persuade her to 
 emulate the Prime Minister and " Wait and see." His 
 fads have never lasted long, and confiding in his 
 family lawyer, we hear that he cannot hypothecate his 
 interest in his income, and that though he may spend 
 largely, sufficient must always be retained for Beata, 
 and should he die for his unknown children as well. 
 
 When I think of him I cannot help laughing much 
 
 to myself, if not with Claudia, for I have seen him and 
 
 98
 
 APRIL-TENDER MEMORIES 99 
 
 had experience of his curious and peculiar ways. He 
 came over years ago to see us, for at that moment 
 he was intent on the study of botany and the ways and 
 habits of birds, and even implored us to take him 
 slowly and safely down our river to the wide and open 
 harbour, where lurked, he thought, many a dismal 
 danger for which he, at any rate, must be amply 
 prepared. I vow he came armed for these dangerous 
 excursions with a full-sized life-saving apparatus in a 
 canvas bag, with sterilized bandages, lest he should 
 graze or wound his arms and legs, with remedies 
 against sea-sickness, though the sea was well outside 
 the harbour and protected from us by the delightful 
 sandbanks and, moreover, he brought his own pro- 
 vender. We did not investigate that, as no doubt it 
 was sterilized too, but we laughed again, and our 
 laughter was not checked when he forbade us to place 
 clumps of heather on his rug : he knew germs of lock- 
 jaw lurked in all the earth; there was earth on the 
 heather, so that, therefore, lockjaw and he were peril- 
 ously near, should we be so ill-advised as to place it 
 on his sacred rug ! 
 
 Now we had to recollect this was the man who, as 
 far as we could discover from friends in the East, 
 had cast in his lot with the followers of Brahma, and 
 sat, loin-cloth around him and little else on, under a 
 tree, his beggar's bowl waiting for scraps of food that 
 most certainly was not hygienic, and amidst conditions 
 that made for plague and cholera, rather than for
 
 100 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 the health for which at one time he so sedulously 
 sought. 
 
 Naturally I could but think he was rather mad, and 
 I recollected the joy his grandmother used to give us 
 years and years ago when she rode helter-skelter 
 through the town on market days clad in a flowing 
 scarlet habit and her hair flying wildly in the breeze ; 
 while her conduct in church was such that even the 
 gentle old Rector spoke about it. She could not sit 
 still, poor soul, for five minutes, and should he give 
 vent to sentiments of which she did not approve, she 
 would snort aloud and cough violently. In those 
 unregenerate days I longed for her to grasp the large 
 chignon of the lady in the pew in front, which I knew 
 well was false; but she never did. She finally came 
 to church with flowers in her hair and in a white muslin 
 dress one Sunday, and then she disappeared. I think 
 she died, at any rate, her grandson carries on her tradi- 
 tions now-a-days, and Beata tells me that despite it 
 all he is lovable and sweet, and at his best all that 
 a husband should be. Fortunately, he is the only 
 child, and Beata declares the ancestry on both sides 
 is impeccable, and that in time he will sober down 
 and become a normal member of society. 
 
 " I hae me doots," but until he does become an 
 ordinary creature I beg her to stay where she is, and at 
 all events make up to the children for the eccentricity 
 of their sire and their most uncomfortable early years 
 in the Hamworth cottage, where their two elder ones
 
 APRIL TENDER MEMORIES 101 
 
 were first interned. I think, looking at these two 
 children Philip and Molly that it was quite time 
 something of the sort happened. I do not dislike a 
 touch of Hamworth accent and of Wessex dialect, but 
 I do like decent manners, besides that, the idea of " a 
 bit of what we has ourselves " has been their regime, 
 as far as their diet is concerned. A regime that does 
 not answer for the poorer classes, but that is well- 
 nigh fatal to any child who is not come of a long 
 line of people brought up on the same extraordinary 
 lines. 
 
 Besides, Philip is six, his language is at times rather 
 more forcible than polite, and he bangs his sister's 
 head when she offends him or dares to suggest her sex 
 and his are equal, and though the foster-mother is 
 rather proud than otherwise of her frequent black 
 eyes and bruised arms, it is not good for children to 
 see such things, and Beata understands this now, and 
 cannot think how she could have left the children as 
 long as she did to such primitive and common folk. 
 Then, too, the children have seen cruel things done 
 to creatures, the hens have their necks wrung callously, 
 and nests are robbed without a thought, there is no 
 feeling for the sufferings of animals among the regular 
 poor, a dog is in the way, a boot reminds him of the 
 fact, a cat is a nuisance, and a heavy hammer is flung 
 at it. 
 
 I vow the lower we go in the social scale the more 
 cruelly are dumb creatures treated, and I distrust any
 
 102 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 one who does not like and understand them. Show 
 me a woman who hits a dog, and I know that she is 
 selfish and bad-tempered, or a man who does not love 
 his horse, I would away with both. I would not 
 pamper and spoil the creatures, but I do love them, 
 and one knows by its ways at once if a dog has a place 
 in the family circle, or is just a dog. In the first place, 
 he is a human thing, loves, protects and almost speaks 
 to one; in the second, he does his work, but is more 
 as some uncared-for servant who works to eat, and 
 because she or he must, and not because the welfare 
 of the household is as dear to him or her as it is to 
 the householder himself. 
 
 In April around Hamworth all Nature appears to 
 wake and sing aloud, and when we took Beata and the 
 children out in the low basket carriage I had the first 
 insight into how little the children knew or cared about 
 the beautiful world by which they are surrounded. A 
 squirrel, dreadful to relate, was a thing at which to 
 throw a stone, a bird's nest suggested robbing, and 
 flowers a greedy grasp, altogether heedless, if they 
 could be used or not. 
 
 Alas ! How I went back in my memory to the 
 children who once were, and who must, I often think, 
 exist somewhere even now, though their bodies are 
 
 O 
 
 grown-up and are the property of men and women of 
 the harsh and cruel world. There is one April drive 
 I recollect when the plover were about, and long 
 before it was necessary to protect the birds, because
 
 APRIL TENDER MEMORIES 103 
 
 transit of their eggs was not so easy as it is now-a- 
 days. There is a wide-stretching moor between us 
 and the Castle of the Gap, and we often drove along 
 that broad red road. How often, too, we all of us 
 believed and told the story that the road was dyed 
 red from the blood of the Martyred King, who, 
 according to tradition, was stabbed by his stepmother 
 at the gate of the hunting-box which gave way to the 
 Castle later on : and who was dragged along the road 
 until he was picked up by a cottager, who took the 
 body home and hid it, until a fiery cross for ever 
 wavering above the cottage called attention to it. 
 Then the Monks came out from Hamworth and 
 coffined the remains, building a wooden shrine above 
 the sacred body. The stone coffin is still shown in 
 Hamworth, and is believed to be the same, though 
 one caretaker in bygone years, who was slightly 
 bemused by liquor and lack of historical knowledge, 
 used to point it out as the coffin in which Oliver 
 Cromwell sailed round the world. A feat even that 
 sturdy iconoclast would have found difficult, I fancy, 
 to perform in any way at all. 
 
 But the Martyr and his sad fate did not trouble 
 me that special drive, for the world was waking fast, 
 and there was plenty and enough to see and speculate 
 about. The splendid gorse was in bloom, the scent 
 from which always has an intoxicating effect on me : 
 the king-cups were golden in the meadows and the 
 cuckoo flowers were nodding in the breeze, and we
 
 104 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 had stopped at least a dozen times to gather here and 
 there of the largesse of the spring. 
 
 But we had passed the dip down to the little rail- 
 way that carries the clay from the pits to the tiny quay, 
 when I observed a plover behaving in the most extra- 
 ordinary manner that any one could conceive. A 
 large and placid red-and-white cow was calmly feeding 
 about the heath, looking here and there for a patch of 
 sweeter grass than was generally to be found, while 
 as she moved, a peewit uttering dolorous cries flew up 
 into her face and fluttered her wings in her very eyes. 
 At first it was ludicrous, the small bird and the great 
 cow, which went on feeding, merely flinging its head 
 from side to side as the attack became more fierce, 
 were so unequally matched that we were fain to smile. 
 But at last we recognized that something untoward was 
 agate. 
 
 Robert went down the steep bank between us and 
 the heath and discovered that the gallant little creature 
 was defending her nest. There it lay flush on the 
 ground, and every heavy step the vast beast made was 
 one nearer the defeat of all the glorious hopes. The 
 cow was driven away at once and the plover settled 
 down immediately on her eggs. She knew we were 
 deliverers, not thieves, and once the cow was gone she 
 troubled about us not at all. 
 
 Philip and Molly would have loved the eggs for 
 tea, they said, but when told the true and pretty story 
 they began to realize that birds and mothers were akin.
 
 APRIL TENDER MEMORIES 105 
 
 Mother had come to them out of the blue, as it were : 
 they were old enough to appreciate Claudia's fine 
 housekeeping and Mrs. McCrae's dainty ways, and 
 though they were irked at first by the restraint, they 
 were gentlefolks born, and soon fell into habits that 
 were as ingrained by heritage as the others would have 
 been by custom had they remained in their surround- 
 ings much longer than they had been left. The 
 children, too, began to see what Nature meant when 
 one really understood her and her ways, and when we 
 had taught them to leave the nests alone, I took them 
 over to the woods, to see how Lucius was getting on in 
 that paradise of peace and rest. I let them run off for 
 a time while I rested awhile and looked around me. 
 Tender and beloved ghosts came out from the past and 
 waited with me as I sat at ease.'/ It seemed to me that 
 all one's life is as some April day ! How well it begins, 
 how full of song and laughter and then mist drifts 
 along, we lose our way and find the day is over and 
 gone and we are far spent. Yet how full of promise is 
 it all, to be sure ! I had had my day, and would not 
 have it again for anything this world can give me. 
 Still, how I should love to be able to stand aloof 
 outside my burdensome body and watch how it all goes 
 now that I have no more part and parcel in the work 
 and play of the magic universe that must always, so 
 it seems to me, be as full of interest as it has ever been. 
 How long is it since we were all children here? 
 What does it matter? I see them all once more, the
 
 106 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 sturdy knickerbockered and kilted cousins I so dearly 
 love, and again we make free of the wood and gather 
 its treasures and hunt the decoy for eggs, merely to 
 look at, for we dare not take them even if we would do 
 so vile a deed. 
 
 There are many pine-trees in the wood, and I hear 
 the never-ceasing moan in the branches that, despite 
 its melancholy, is to me one of the sweetest sounds in 
 the wide world, but we have many other trees too ; for 
 few birds will build in the pines, and this is to be a 
 sanctuary for all kinds of the beautiful feathered 
 denizens of our happy world. I have a tiresome dread 
 of birds should they flutter down to me, or enter a 
 room by the open window and fly hastily about. Not 
 only do I possess that stupid dread, but down to the 
 third and fourth generation the family shares it, and 
 I cannot understand in the least why this should be so. 
 I have a vivid recollection of nearly sending a small 
 niece into a fit by flourishing a feather brush in her 
 baby face': her nieces share the same dread of feathers, 
 and so it has been for generations, yet no sight is 
 dearer to me than the bird at home, though should one 
 select my shoulder for a rest, I tremble and fly, and 
 though I long to let the robins feed from my hand 
 and the tits from the table whence the nuthatches take 
 their nuts at a safe distance, try as I will I cannot. 
 Will some one explain this strange dread to me ? I 
 can stay by the birds as long as they hop or walk, but 
 let their wings expand and flutter, I am off, and no
 
 APRIL TENDER MEMORIES 107 
 
 power on earth will keep me within reach of their little 
 agitating wings. 
 
 I suppose, as I wonder here idly in my mind, that 
 every one has some dislike that could be traced home, 
 had we the power to do so. Why should Lord Roberts 
 shrink from a cat and hurriedly leave the room should 
 one come in ? I have a friend to whom a snake is the 
 most fearsome thing on earth, and she cannot even 
 bear a presentment of the creature; another dreads 
 spiders, another a mouse, and so one could go on all 
 through the list of created beasts and birds, yet for 
 none of these dreads is there any reason whatever that 
 I can find out. 
 
 I most heartily desire I could exorcise my own 
 failing, the gallant tits which swing from the wire 
 across my window in winter, from whence the cocoa- 
 nuts are strung, are my delight ; there is one I call the 
 Whistler, for the first thing in the morning he gives 
 his cheery call, then he falls to work, his hard little 
 bill sounding as some fairy carpenter's tiny hammer 
 might, as he stops now and then to whistle a note or 
 two, finally flying off with another call, as if he would 
 say thank you, and show me how truly grateful he is. 
 
 I know every mark he has, the white patch round 
 each eye, the yellow breast just open as it were to 
 show his black velvet waistcoat, and the two white bars 
 on his sombre-coloured wings, and I long to touch his 
 dark and shining head, but I dare not The bright 
 blue-and-yellow torn-tits come too, as do those I call
 
 108 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 the "half-mourning" tits, for they wear nothing but 
 grey and black, but 'tis only the Whistler that is openly 
 grateful, though I dare say the others are, at any rate 
 they attend regularly at the banquet, and even in 
 spring and summer are not above being found in food. 
 
 I am not at all sure we are not doing for the bird 
 world what County Councils and legislation generally 
 is doing for those in the lower stratas of the Social 
 Scale. I do not agree with Lucius' idea of bird boxes 
 for the tits, and am inclined to stop supplies of food 
 during the spring and summer months, but it is a 
 problem, look at it how we will. 
 
 The starlings, the robbers of the bird world, have, 
 I hear from Lucius, actually taken to build in the holes 
 the woodpeckers have made for themselves for genera- 
 tions, and yet what can we do? The woodpecker 
 should defend his own home, it seems to me, but then 
 so should the martins, and how often are they ousted 
 by the sparrow, I should like to know? It is not 
 always the survival of the fittest, and it appears to 
 me that just as our best blood is going away from 
 England, and our old families are being ousted by the 
 American or the nouveaux riches, so our birds are 
 being driven out. Even in my wood there are 
 ructions, and Nature, "red in tooth and claw," is as 
 ruthless as ever the legislators, and is, so it appears 
 to me, doing quite as much harm. 
 
 I am glad to hear as I sit under the tree (no longer 
 a horrible exhibition of murder and spite) that we still
 
 APRIL TENDER MEMORIES 109 
 
 call the " keeper's tree," that Lucius and the children 
 are having what the Yankees would call a real good 
 time. The voices once so raucous and crude are 
 softer and less jarring, there are no wild shrieks even 
 of joy or anger, and sober conversation seems the 
 order of the day, until finally all three emerge from 
 the depths of the plantation and throw themselves at 
 my feet, Lucius very different from what he was when 
 he came a full year ago, for now and then I skip a 
 year, or even go back several in the year's mind, 
 for it is the month, not the year, that matters, and 
 Philip and Molly are breathless with delight. They 
 have cautiously been shown a pheasant's nest where 
 some eggs will be laid, and, indeed, I think there is 
 one already ; the thrushes and robins have one and all 
 been visited, and I hear with real emotion that two 
 of the herons from the heronry in the harbour have 
 selected a tall tree; it is almost too good to be true, 
 but such is the fact, and I trust they may be the fore- 
 runners of a long and noble race. 
 
 By this time Beata and Claudia and the car are at 
 the gate, and there at any rate the car must stay. We 
 only allow Lucius' dog here, and he knows his place, 
 but there are two others in the car, so I suppose we 
 must refuse the tea Lucius offers and make our way 
 home in the clear and lovely April afternoon. But 
 before we can do so we are confronted by one of those 
 hateful tragedies that make one almost forswear 
 Nature and her dealings for ever. There is a scream
 
 110 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 and a rustle; Lucius grasps his dog's collar, and out 
 from the hedge fall headlong a great brown hare with 
 a stoat fixed on its most unhappy throat. Crusoe the 
 dog is let loose, but at the sight of us the stoat has 
 released its hold and is off, and the hare falls by the 
 path; its glazing, terror-stricken eyes are horrible to 
 behold; the children cry out, and Beata hurries them 
 away. Death is not a good thing for them to behold, 
 and so they leave the wood, shaken in their belief of 
 its use as a sanctuary, but wiser in that they see that 
 cruelty is a thing that no one should ever practise 
 unless they know no better. 
 
 " It's not so long ago," Beata says calmly, " that 
 you wanted to drown the cat, Philip, and you, Molly, 
 tried to kill every bird you saw : you did not want your 
 dinner, and the stoat did : think of that first and then 
 forget it all : only remember all that you have seen 
 that is good and kind this afternoon, and forget the 
 rest." 
 
 Easier said than done, alas ! for Philip woke crying 
 and Molly dreamed she was a hare and a stoat was at 
 her throat; but the lesson went home, the children 
 saved the creatures in their path from that day on : 
 even the worms were sacred to the birds, and though 
 to crush a snail on the gravel path makes a lovely 
 noise and leaves a silver trail of slime behind it, it 
 is better to watch the thrush hammer the shell to pieces 
 on the stones of the verandah. The thrush wants his 
 dinner and gets it; wanton killing for sport is horrible,
 
 APRIL TENDER MEMORIES 111 
 
 and can never be excused even if it be only a snail or 
 a worm. 
 
 How full of memories is April to me, how sad, how 
 dreadful, and yet how fragrant every now and then ! 
 
 Beata cannot go on living for ever with Claudia, 
 neither would Claudia wish it even if Beata did. Her 
 dear and dainty little house is not furnished for 
 children, neither is it meant for them, but to find a 
 house in Hamworth is indeed a parlous task. To me 
 the houses are not lived in by the real people, who are 
 no doubt delightful and charming and dear : I cannot 
 say, for I do not know them even by sight in these 
 latter days of ours, but each still holds intact the 
 special family with whom I laughed and played and 
 quarrelled, and whom I hated and loved, in the bygone 
 days that can never come again. Claudia scolds me 
 about my ghosts, but as she has never known them, 
 I care not for her wrath. She has not been inside the 
 places where " Johnny Newcomes " abide, and she 
 loves to hear of those who once were there as much as 
 I love to speak of them. 
 
 Beata has her eyes on the dear old home of my 
 beloved aunt; but the present folk show no signs of 
 giving up that pleasant place, and I can only tell her 
 how admirably it would suit her, at the same time 
 speaking low and lovingly of those who once were 
 there. 
 
 There was such a good ghost there too; a man 
 walked round and round the drive in front of the house
 
 112 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 when it was fine, and up and down the verandah when 
 it rained, and of course we were one and all strong 
 believers in him, and very proud of such a possession 
 too ; but long ere the house passed from our keeping 
 a learned fossil dispersed our ghost finally. How 
 could he do it? Of course no one but a fossil would, 
 but he was so proud to prove it was all an echo that 
 he could not refrain. The maids were obviously 
 easier, but we were all very angry. How often on 
 moonlight nights had we watched for the ghost, I 
 should like to know? and here was our occupation gone 
 at one fell swoop. It is always disconcerting to have 
 one's good ghost stories spoiled, and I have known 
 one other too at that same house that had the making 
 of a splendid tale. 
 
 How long ago is it, I wonder, since it happened? 
 It must be quite fifty years, for train service was bad 
 and telegraphs were scant, and of course motors and 
 telephones had not even been thought about, let alone 
 brought to birth. There were grand and gorgeous 
 dinners in those days too in the neighbouring towns, 
 and to one of these my uncle had gone : he was to 
 be back at the station by the last train, but, alack ! 
 he was not in that train and the coachman returned 
 wellnigh distraught. There was nothing to be done 
 save wait until the next day, and I having had the 
 presence of mind to assure my aunt that bad news of 
 any sort would have been sent to her by travellers by 
 the train, proceeded to see her into her room and
 
 APRIL TENDER MEMORIES 113 
 
 retire to my own, and peace fell on the house-full of 
 unprotected children and women. In those days I 
 considered it romantic, as it was undoubtedly foolish, 
 to stay up to untoward hours composing what I fondly 
 hoped was poetry and thinking high and splendid 
 thoughts. How many evils have I slain, how many 
 wrongs righted during those vigils, I wonder, and how 
 many tears shed over the sins and sorrows of the 
 world? There are some among my kind and unkind 
 critics who invariably state that a vein of bitterness 
 runs through all I write, but let them pause and think. 
 Have they agonized as I have done since I was seven 
 (so early did I catch echoes from the cruel world out- 
 side) over the brutalities of life ? have then slunk away 
 dazed and hurt by the mere physical facts of existence ? 
 have they wondered at what appears to be the inequali- 
 ties of the diverse fates served out to us, whether we 
 like them or not? Or have they realized as 1 have 
 done, as I have been forced to do, how different one's 
 own path might have been had one only been allowed 
 to see a yard in front of one's nose? If not, let them 
 put down this book after the usual stab and sneer and 
 hie them to their expensive meals, paid for in part, 
 no doubt, by the speedy sales of the works they 
 criticize, and leave me and my outlook on life alone. 
 
 What a digression from that long past April night, 
 to be sure ; yet it was of kindred matters that I thought, 
 and it was almost midnight before I realized the hour. 
 At the minute twelve struck from the Town Hall I
 
 114 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 heard the avenue gate slam on its hinges and a manly 
 step come down the drive, and then I heard the front 
 door open, some one sit down on the usual chair, 
 fling down the boots on the stone hall, and then pro- 
 ceed to come upstairs. I threw open my door, and 
 candle in hand came out, and at the same moment so 
 did my aunt, she too had not undressed and was ready 
 for all emergencies. 
 
 ' " Is that you, Lacey ? " she called ; but no one 
 answered, and a couple of very frightened females 
 leaned over the balustrade and raked the hall and 
 passage fore and aft. I, gaining courage from her 
 companionship, tried the front door; it was still locked, 
 but even then I reconnoitred the long passage to the 
 schoolroom, lest a malefactor should be lurking there, 
 but there was not a soul. Of course it was my uncle's 
 ghost come to tell us of his untimely end, and my 
 poor aunt and I sat up hand in hand, hardly daring 
 to move or speak until about six, when we heard the 
 ghost once more. This time the door-handle did 
 turn, and I, greatly daring, rushed down and threw 
 open the door. There stood my uncle, very sheepish, 
 very much ashamed of himself, while my aunt, who 
 up to that moment had been calmness itself, threw 
 herself violently into his arms and wept aloud, as if 
 nothing on this earth would ever make her stop. 
 
 Alas, for our good ghost ! my uncle had slept all 
 night in the train, which was shunted into a siding at 
 Dorchester, and he had only roused in time to come
 
 APRIL TENDER MEMORIES 115 
 
 up by the slow train in the early morning a milk train, 
 I think, so prosaic was his return, and our ghost turned 
 out to be the coachman. He had felt responsible 
 for our welfare, had gone back to shut and fasten the 
 avenue gate, had then walked round the house to see 
 the windows were closed, and had finally tried the 
 front door. We had heard all these movements dis- 
 tinctly, the rest, being expected, were imagined, as 
 indeed all ghost stories are, more or less, but if only 
 my uncle had died as he ought to make it perfect, 
 we should have been the proud possessors of one of 
 the best ghost stories I, for one, have ever participated 
 in or heard. 
 
 I wish Beata could have had the house : I could 
 see the children in the schoolroom quite well, where 
 we used to make fearsome noises and cook the most 
 unholy and dreadful messes, and where now and then 
 my aunt would cut out and make garments of hideous 
 unbleached calico for some of the many people to 
 whom she was always good and kind. 
 
 I can smell and feel the stuff now, and I wonder if 
 any one ever buys it in these superior days of ours ! 
 How it wore, to be sure : not so long ago some one 
 showed me the remains of one of those same garments ; 
 she had loved my aunt, as indeed all did who ever 
 saw her, and she was keeping the nightdress to be 
 buried in. It was soft and warm and white now, and 
 was still edged with crochet, a work I deemed dead 
 and buried too, until I met it once more at Bourne-
 
 116 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 mouth in the hands of kindly ladies of the old school 
 whom I loved at once : first because they were so good 
 themselves, and secondly because ghosts had hovered 
 over their crochet-hooks as they worked, and I was 
 once more for about the twentieth time a child. 
 
 How well I recollect the family black sheep, black 
 in contrast to the ultra whiteness of the rest of the 
 flock, eating an orange skin and all in that passage, 
 his bites being punctuated by raps on the door, as 
 his forehead came against it as he bit. Swift detec- 
 tion followed, sundry smacks and the confiscated 
 remains of the fruit drove the lesson home, but he 
 never was a good boy, his powers of invention were 
 tremendous, and I do not know where he is : his last 
 address was the Tropics, wide enough in all conscience, 
 although I did hear he made a brief and brilliant 
 appearance in England lately, and spent a thousand 
 pounds and more on a motor; though he did not see 
 his relations, and no doubt the story is but Hamworth 
 gossip after all ! 
 
 Searching for a house for Beata was, she said, simply 
 a walk among the tombs as far as I was concerned, 
 for not one she noted was without its history for me. 
 I wish I could put back Hamworth as it once was, 
 and let me be as I now am, for I should love it now, 
 and in those days I cordially detested the beloved 
 place. There are yet three or four houses that I loved 
 even then, one whence I used to watch the va-et-vient 
 of the tiny place. Alas ! all are dead and the house
 
 APRIL TENDER MEMORIES 117 
 
 is now a shop : the beautiful old mulberry tree is cut 
 down, the path once outlined by the arid bones of 
 the calves' feet that made endless jelly for the many 
 parties that were held there, are crumbled up and 
 thrown away. I do not know what has taken their 
 place : I could not enter the house even if I would, 
 for the dead would bar the way. How I recollect the 
 dear old mistress who sat here with me and told me 
 of her stormy wedding, and how the day before she 
 was nearly maddened because the licence had been 
 forgotten, and her bridegroom and his brother had had 
 to drive off through the deep snow to the county town 
 in search of a surrogate. Now she lies alone in the 
 great London cemetery; some of her children and her 
 husband lie in Hamworth, and her last daughter is a 
 handful of ashes at Golders' Green. It is impossible 
 that we were all such friends once. 
 \ Will this life appear as strange to us, I wonder, if 
 we ever have another one? If so I for one Ho not 
 want it; my heaven would be this earth with wider 
 knowledge, wider power, wider senses. I do not want 
 anything else, save that all should be good, all happy, 
 and that no one should ever, ever die. But Beata 
 and Claudia laugh, they want some one very much to 
 'die; they are not particular who it shall be, as they 
 know no one in Hamworth personally, but they want 
 a house. Who then can they 'destroy, by incantations 
 maybe, or even by wishing, as some folk think we can ? 
 I at any rate am not prepared even to commit a " ritual
 
 118 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 murder," though I should then have Beata settled near 
 us in this tiny town. There are such charming houses 
 too if we could only fill them, or rather empty them 
 at our will. To look at the Priory would make a rake 
 into a monk, though I think it would require over- 
 hauling and modernizing to fit in with the ideas of 
 to-day. I recollect it only in the days of old, when 
 the dearest of friends lived there, when we all believed 
 in the monk who paces the garden paths, in the secret 
 walk that led direct into the Priests' room in the church 
 from the room where dear William sat amongst dirty 
 law books, and tin boxes bearing names of clients long 
 since dead and gone; when the two tiny rooms led 
 into a conservatory, and were the drawing-rooms of 
 state full of fine old furniture and draped in chintzes, 
 portions of which are still to be discovered in the 
 cottages that creep about the church, and the romantic 
 saw-pits where never a sawyer has been seen since I 
 at any rate can recollect. 
 
 April was ever a grand month for turning out, aye, 
 and even for giving, as well as putting away, for was 
 not spring cleaning agate then, and were not bright 
 steel bars brought down from the attic, the mutton 
 fat cleared off and the bars polished until they shone 
 again? Then the chimneys were swept, the good 
 black bars put away in their turn, the cuckoos shouted 
 along the walls and over the meadows and rioted by 
 Bestwall, and fires were forbidden by the careful 
 housewife until the September fair gave her leave to
 
 119 
 
 be warm. For no matter how cold and damp the 
 summer was, no one dared to break the horrible un- 
 written law when I was a child and a young, young 
 girl ! The delight of the cuckoo's first note can thrill 
 me even now, though I regard his conduct as a bird 
 most unworthy in every way, and I have watched his 
 wife deposit her eggs in other birds' nests in the calm 
 manner that is wellnigh unbelievable. Cyrus, our 
 old gardener, declared she laid them on the ground 
 and put them in the nest with her claws. I have only 
 seen her scuttle into the hedge, and after waiting a 
 while emerge almost with a smile, as if to say, " Well, 
 that at any rate will not occur again." 
 
 An authority on bird-lore showed me not long ago 
 a collection he had made of cuckoos' eggs, and the 
 curious may see this for themselves should they visit 
 Christchurch in Hampshire. He declares that before 
 the cuckoo lays her eggs she watches to see the kind 
 of egg that shall precede her own trespassing one : 
 she then broods awhile, and lays one so like in colour 
 and shape that nothing save the size is different, and 
 the poor mother bird is deceived and thinks the egg 
 is hers. I have seen the collection of different coloured 
 and spotted eggs, or I should say, " I do not belief," 
 as an old German governess always replied when I 
 gave her any information about English ways and 
 habits; yet one is impelled to ask why, if the owner 
 of the nest noted colour, she could not see the differ- 
 ence in size : I cannot answer that, and can only relate
 
 120 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 facts that are as undoubted as they are unintelligible 
 to me, at any rate ! 
 
 Beata wishes she could turn cuckoo and place not 
 only her nestlings but herself in some of the pleasant 
 Hamworth nests, and we think and ponder over every 
 place we know. There is the gem by the river close 
 to me, where the Castle garden was, and where is the 
 dearest little house in the world, but the river is too 
 close for the children, and besides that the place has 
 never been vacant in the memory of man. There is 
 the great house with the terraced walk crowned by the 
 grim old chimney which is all that remains of the 
 Saxon mint, but it too is full, and indeed it would 
 take months and years ever to turn it out. There is 
 a vast store of splendid china there : old furniture 
 which would make the mouth of a connoisseur water 
 even to see, and boundless embroideries into which 
 are stitched the life stories of many a careful mother 
 and unwedded maid. 
 
 No ! I trust that house may never be turned out 
 until I cannot see the dreadful deed done; the things 
 would cry aloud, as one is told the mandrake shrieks 
 when pulled up by its roots, and there would be 
 memories and thoughts scattered abroad that I love to 
 know are yet holden in the Hear and desolate deserted 
 rooms. 
 
 Can I take Beata to the house where the ghostly 
 hand used to come through the wall until the Master, 
 strong-minded though he was, could stand it no more,
 
 APRIL TENDER MEMORIES 121 
 
 and solemnly bricked up with a double row of bricks 
 the place where they had so often seen the shining and 
 luminous apparition ? No ! later on she may send 
 Philip there to learn his first lessons at the school that 
 has taken my dear old friend's place, but I could not 
 enter the house myself. The last time I did Crystal 
 lay dead in her girlish beauty; and then the family 
 went away. 
 
 The " General's " urn we dug up on the heath from 
 the barrow brought us all bad luck, it seems to me, 
 though he fell to pieces on the hall pavement, and we 
 none of us have flourished or been very happy since 
 that deed of shame ! I will never dig up any Roman 
 remains again, I tell Lucius, though he has discovered 
 a barrow close beside my wood, and he and Claudia 
 declare I am poor-souled and have no public spirit 
 when I bid them let the dead rest in peace and alone. 
 
 I wish I could get for Beata the long low house 
 opposite the school, for nothing but happy memories 
 cling about its walls, for me, at any rate. Long years 
 ago the family there had a stout and worthy cook, 
 who had been engaged to be married some fifteen or 
 twenty years. Every Christmas the man came to see 
 her, and remained three nights and two days ; and on 
 the last night the couple always used to stand outside 
 the front door for a good two hours, and in our impish 
 way we determined to find out what they talked of 
 in the cold, and indeed sometimes even in rain and 
 snow and hail. For two solid hours we sat by the
 
 122 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 window above the door and listened, but not one word 
 was spoken, though sundry giggles and pushes denoted 
 that tender embraces might be attempted now and 
 then. At last the town clock struck ten. Hannah 
 said, " Ten." The swain remarked, " I must be 
 gwain, I d' allow." Hannah said, "Aye, that thee 
 must; " and with a " So-long then " from the man, the 
 couple parted to meet once more the day before the 
 next Christmas in the same old way. 
 
 Hannah was wellnigh fifty when she became a 
 bride; she and he had both been steady savers and 
 hard workers, and he had got a nice big farm. She 
 dilated much to us on what she should have and do, 
 but, alas ! greed had become ingrained in the man and 
 covetousness in the woman. Hard work from morning 
 to night and neglect of some slight ailment slew 
 Hannah in a year. I do not know what became of 
 the husband, but as he had been heard to remark at 
 the funeral, a woman must be in a farmer's kitchen 
 or the farmer could not prosper, I expect he soon 
 found another wife at any rate he could not afford 
 another twenty years of courtship, and I doubt even 
 if he had done so, if in these degenerate days he could 
 have found a hard worker as was Hannah, with a 
 " mort o' sovereigns " in the bank, and a hearty desire 
 to co-operate with him in scraping and saving to add 
 to them as fast as ever they could. 
 
 There are new houses, I hear, on the Wargate road, 
 but here the wind howls wildly in the winter and
 
 APRIL-TENDER MEMORIES 123 
 
 there is no protection from the gales ; besides, Claudia 
 remarks calmly, even those are all let, and we are 
 wellnigh at our wits' end. 
 
 McCrae is not pleased with the children in his 
 garden, and they have more than once invited the 
 " gutter brats " in from " opposite " where they were 
 boarded out. One does not want to make them little 
 snobs, but there are social differences, and these must 
 be respected. I recollect my old friend at the ghost- 
 house sent one of her sons to the then Board School, 
 and her youngest girl to be taught with some one else 
 in the shopkeeping line. It may have done the 
 children good, but I doubt it, and soon they were sent 
 away. The friends they made had a different outlook 
 on life somehow. One cannot fuse classes, try how 
 one will; though personally I do not try, and do not 
 want to, craving no more for the society of a Duke 
 than I do for a dustman's company; and I still hold 
 with my old maid's dictum, " Classes is classes and 
 must be kep'." As well try to treat a black man 
 as a brother : those sentimentalists who have tried it 
 have invariably failed; black and white are always 
 different, and no amount of sentimentalizing on the 
 subject will get over the hard stern fact.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 MAY COWSLIP-TIME 
 
 CLAUDIA arrived into the upper garden via the steps 
 with her hands full of cowslips, but with a look of 
 stern determination on her face that boded ill for my 
 peace of mind, or perchance for my rest of body. I 
 never know now quite what Claudia may make me do, 
 she has so disorganized my old age, and so stirred 
 me out from what was once the fag-end of a very 
 jog-trot promenade towards a most detested grave. 
 
 ' These are a peace-offering," she said, as she sank 
 into her own particular garden chair by the bird-table, 
 " for I have come to give you what the domestics call 
 a piece of my mind." 
 
 I looked round wildly. It was May, the month of 
 months, sadder than death to me, full of dreadful 
 memories, and such darkness that I can scarcely see 
 the flowers that unfold on every hand. I had been 
 silent and sorrowful, I know, but how could I help it ? 
 The best ship I ever sent out of harbour had gone 
 down with all, fame, reputation, health and comfort, on 
 board, and besides that, had not Bessie and her sister 
 passed away, as they call it who do not care to speak 
 of Death by his hard and cruel name? Some forty 
 
 years had divided their death days, but both were as 
 
 124
 
 MAY COWSLIP-TIME 125 
 
 fresh to me the one as the other, and I had been 
 making up the sombre ugly wreaths of mauve 
 rhododendrons and white pinks for their graves, simply 
 because forty years before I had no other flowers to 
 send, and I had continued this custom until I could 
 not, could not give it up. 
 
 Does Sorrow ever sleep? No, never, of that I am 
 certain; it lies low and pounces out when least we 
 expect it, and I who have always dreaded lest I should 
 forget those I have loved and lost, am at times well- 
 nigh impelled to pray for forgetfulness, so often am I 
 stabbed to the heart, so little can I ever forget the 
 griefs that have accumulated as I passed along life's 
 road. 
 
 Now Claudia was to reproach me, and for what, I 
 wondered ? She had gone into the house and returned 
 with a jug of water and my best Aix bowl for the 
 cowslips, a bowl I bought at Aix-les-Bains for a 
 wedding present, and loved it so I finally gave it to 
 myself, and bought something less alluring for the 
 "happy pair" long since separated, as is the custom 
 in these late days of ours, and each gone their own 
 way. 
 
 Her cowslips do not look their best in that : it is 
 meant for roses, and finally Claudia fetches a soup- 
 plate and sets to work on her dainty task. 
 
 " Dear friend," she says at last, " do you know you 
 are a most selfish person, and I must e'en rouse you to 
 recognize the fact ? "
 
 126 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 I gasped and cried out, " Oh, what have I done ? " 
 
 " It's not what you have done," said Claudia judi- 
 cially, with her head on one side, as she regarded her 
 cowslips : " it's what you have not done that annoys 
 and worries me. Do you know it is May, and that 
 across the hill by Steeple the cowslips are out in their 
 thousands, and the Steeple garden is a mass of red and 
 white may, yellow laburnum, and a thousand other 
 happy flowers ? " 
 
 Of course I knew it all, but how did that make me 
 selfish ? 
 
 " I want to rouse you up for once and all," said 
 Claudia. ' You know Beata wants a house : those 
 rooms she is in now are not comfortable, and the 
 children want a garden. Here are you alone;: why do 
 you not let her have most of this great house and one 
 of the gardens ? You say times are hard and you want 
 money." 
 
 I cried out, " Oh, Claudia, Claudia ! my house is 
 full full to the brim. Can I let Molly and Philip 
 and that long-clothes object play among the ghosts in 
 the old nursery ? Can I allow other little footsteps to 
 replace those I hear day and night ? and Beata I like 
 her, yes, I do, but I cannot be civil to any one all day 
 long. Why, you should know that ! Besides, I wander 
 in and out as I wish, and if I do not want dinner I do 
 not want to be obliged to sit through a hateful meal : 
 a tray in the garden is often all that I have or need. I 
 should go wild to have some one always about me, and
 
 MAY-COWSLIP-TIME 127 
 
 I never have, never will," and I wrung my hands in 
 utter despair. 
 
 Claudia let me pour out all my woes, and did not 
 speak until I had demonstrated fully as I thought 
 how wild and whirling were her suggestions for in- 
 fringement of my peace; and then she said 
 
 " Now listen, dear one, and you will see how good 
 it will be both for Beata and you, to say nothing of the 
 children. Do you recollect the green-baize door you 
 had erected when you first came to this big and 
 wandering house, because it was so large and the 
 emptiness thereof alarmed you when night fell and 
 Robert was away ? " 
 
 Did I remember? Who can forget the first home- 
 coming in the new importance of a fresh-made bride ? 
 There is not an instant of that first month I cannot 
 recall, from the important choosing of new gas globes 
 to the arrangement of the frightful wedding presents 
 (for I was married in what I call the ormolu age, when 
 photograph frames, card trays, biscuit boxes were all 
 of that hideous material and make), and the final 
 erection of the tall green-baize-covered door between 
 me and the long sequences of empty rooms. Frank 
 the carpenter smiled to himself when he put it up, he 
 felt certain it would not be there long, yet there it is; 
 fastened against the wall, 'tis true, and unused, and I 
 do not feel as if I could once more bring it into 
 service. Yet we have two staircases in the good old- 
 fashioned way, and even two kitchens; they need
 
 128 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 not have my nurseries, and indeed, I was very, very 
 poor ! 
 
 My garden wanted a thousand things I could not 
 give it, and though I pretended always that it would 
 last my time, I felt there was much in what Claudia 
 said; that given more money I could have more 
 pleasures, and replace the worn-out shrubs and fruit- 
 trees that were no good to me, though I loved them in 
 their old age simply, oh, futile reason ! because I had 
 known them young. We have a terraced garden that 
 leads out into a sloping field where children can do 
 no manner of harm, and Beata is quite willing to erect 
 and pay for a trellised screen that will keep the field 
 and my paradise separate and alone. I can give her 
 sufficient room in the house, and only catch echoes 
 now and then from the children, but I must keep my 
 own old nursery sacred. 
 
 How often have I gazed up at those windows re- 
 turning from a jaunt to London, or even only from a 
 drive, to see the clustering fair heads on the look-out, 
 and seeing them, know at once that all was well ! 
 How often now do I fancy the children there ! The 
 wall-paper is the same, the first I could get from 
 Morris in the early days of his fame, the fine pome- 
 granate pattern that we all loved so much, and there 
 is the tall toy cupboard yet full of toys. I ought to 
 give away the wretched funny Pongo whose coat shows 
 signs of horrid wear and tear, to clear out the carving- 
 tools and the odds and ends of puzzles and picture-
 
 MAY COWSLIP-TIME 129 
 
 books and needlework. Well, I cannot, so perhaps 
 Claudia will do it for me ! 
 
 I do not think ghosts are healthy company, and I 
 have lived among them now only, for so many, many 
 years. 
 
 Claudia tells me that Beata merely wants to slip in 
 unnoticed when the trellis-work is up and the green 
 door fastened once more, and that I need never know 
 that she is in the house at all; at any moment her 
 egregious spouse may return, and then, of course, she 
 will go back to him with the children ; and, indeed, she 
 has mapped it out all so completely that I give in, and 
 wonder if I shall not repent it as soon as ever Claudia 
 has gone away. 
 
 But she has a most magnetic touch, this Claudia, 
 and I begin to feel that she has done me good, there 
 is so much one can share with children, so much one 
 wants to do and have, that it would be quite foolish 
 were one at sixty odd to start out and do it for oneself. 
 I own to a weakness for toys that has been sternly 
 suppressed since money ceased to be plentiful, and I 
 could not pretend to buy them for a friend's child, 
 playing with them myself almost in secret ere I gained 
 courage to send them on their way. 
 
 What so truly delightful as a Noah's Ark where the 
 beasts had real skins, and walk decorously up an 
 inclined plane from the floor to the table and from the 
 table to the ark? or a posse of heavy lead soldiers with 
 a fort and a moat round it, made from flower-troughs
 
 130 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 once used to decorate a dinner-table in the days of 
 old? I like a doll's house, too, and the fine old- 
 fashioned dolls and their gorgeous clothes, their stiff 
 unbending bodies, their fixed smiles and their flaxen 
 hair : a long-clothes doll gives me even now more 
 delight than a long-clothes infant, but, of course, there 
 J I must dissemble or second childhood is hinted at, 
 though really I do not care, one's first childhood was 
 a time of dreads and fears; now one has neither the 
 one nor the other. Bogey has gone his horrid way with 
 the Devil and hell, and I have found out a heaven for 
 myself, but it will not be the orthodox one of clouds 
 and hymnlets. No ! flowers and beauty, happy occu- 
 pations, no partings, no misunderstandings and a life 
 much like the present, and that is enough for me at 
 any rate. j "The Keys of Heaven," some poet of old 
 called the cowslips, and here they are as Claudia 
 brought them in. I do not think they are the keys, 
 for surely the primroses open the land of enchantment 
 first, but I will not quarrel with the dainty blooms, 
 they shall have precedence if they wish. 
 
 I think it was Philip who first showed me the 
 chaffinches' nest in the old apple-tree below his 
 window : I could have wept because another Philip 
 once came armed with the same delicate piece of news, 
 but I sternly repressed my foolish jealousy for that 
 boy who is now a grown and happy man. 
 
 Philip came steathily to the gate by the trellis, and 
 with much mystery told me his precious secret, and,
 
 MAY COWSLIP-TIME 131 
 
 unthinkingly, I took his small, warm, grubby hand and 
 we went up the stairway to his own room. The apple- 
 tree was quite out in flower, and there truly was the 
 lovely little nest ! The outside was formed of the 
 long grey lichen that covers the trunk of a tree, and 
 the birds had absolutely decorated the nest with pale 
 pink apple-blossom until we could not tell it from the 
 tree itself. Now we should never have seen the nest 
 at all had not Philip had his vantage-ground, and now 
 he and I alone (I promised him quite faithfully to keep 
 his secret) will watch the little fledglings emerge from 
 the eggs, and then give their parents enough to do to 
 fill their yawning mouths. 
 
 I tell Philip in return of my secret, and asking him 
 in with great form and ceremony to my own room, I 
 hold his blouse tightly while he cranes out of the 
 window and sees upon the ledge below, where my 
 constant friends the fly-catchers have built their nest 
 for years and years. It is shaded by the broad 
 magnolia leaves and the purple-tasselled wistaria, and 
 year after year it is put in precisely the same place. 
 The birds never seemed to mind my watching them in 
 the least, and they brought their building materials 
 quite unconcernedly, and gradually formed the soft, 
 round nest, lining it very carefully with hair and cob- 
 webs, doubtless taken from an old deserted cellar quite 
 close by. 
 
 I tell Philip there will be four little birds later on, 
 and that the first greenish-white, brown-spotted egg is
 
 132 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 already laid, and this morning the happy father 
 perched on my window-sill and chirped until I looked 
 down and saw it; then he flew back to his wife and 
 told her household matters were well in train. When 
 she begins to sit, she will keep looking up at my 
 window, and I always speak to fier and she replies; 
 and when the little ones are ready to leave the nest 
 they will be marshalled along the ledge first, as if 
 waiting for my inspection before they go each their 
 separate way. 
 
 Shall I tell Philip of the wren's nest in the Irish 
 yew? A curious domed structure it is, looking 
 immense for the minute owner thereof, I do not think 
 I will. At present she allows me to gaze at her, her 
 bright observing eye peeping out of the round hole 
 through which she enters and leaves her nest, and I 
 do not want that expression to change. Now she 
 merely looks at me as one might observe a rather 
 curious neighbour; but no one who really notes the 
 different appearances that come over the beady eye of 
 a bird can doubt that it does not suffer the alternations 
 of hope, dread and despair that human being has, and 
 if Philip frightens the wren, I, for one, should never 
 forgive myself. I have told him one secret in exchange 
 for his, there let the matter remain until I am better 
 acquainted with the little lad. There is no doubt, 
 whatever, that I shall be great friends with these 
 children, and that Claudia as usual was quite, quite 
 right to make me use my great and empty house.
 
 MAY COWSLIP-TIME 133 
 
 The meadows are lush with grasses, marguerite 
 daisies and the vivid pink ragged robins, and every- 
 where are the sound and sense of life. The house 
 has been dead, aye, and the garden almost dead since 
 I grew old. Now I do not know quite whose children 
 these are who play so happily in the field beyond the 
 mound. It is as if I had gone back forty years at least, 
 and life and I are going once more together. I have 
 often felt the little creatures creep timidly round my 
 chair as I sat under the mulberry-tree and dreamt of 
 all that I once possessed, but I know they were but 
 memories, and they could neither speak nor touch me 
 with their tender hands. Now I hear the voices 
 calling and the cries of rapture I used to listen for; 
 either they answer the cuckoo or Philip mocks the 
 nightjar in the dark and leafless ash at the bottom of 
 the lower garden, while Molly, greatly daring, has 
 crept through the broken hedge on to the walls and has 
 found the first wild rose. I hear a murmured colloquy 
 in which Beata joins; the trellis-work creaks a little 
 and I look round. Her small, earnest face is glued 
 against it, the smaller hand creeps through : what 
 matter that the rose is hot and fainting ? it is the first, 
 and that is as great a discovery in its way as was 
 Philip's chaffinch's nest in the old apple-tree. 
 
 Molly is becoming a most enchanting person in her 
 way, albeit, she is a little too matter of fact at present 
 to come up to my standard of what a child should be. 
 But then she has been for the first eight precious years
 
 134 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 of her little life in an atmosphere of matter-of-facted- 
 ness (to coin a word) that does not make for an 
 imaginative frame of mind at all. Her foster-mother 
 has always kept the children clean and well fed; but 
 they have lived a cottage life, in the streets of a little 
 country town, and they have heard and seen the crude 
 realities of life. They know the price of bread and all 
 about the killing of the pig and the birth of numerous 
 rabbits in the hutches in the back yard, to say nothing 
 of details anent the arrivals of neighbours' children. 
 Salway is a good sort of man, no doubt, in his way, 
 but that way is not ours, and Mrs. Salway has all the 
 love of gossip and slander a childless country woman, 
 and a town one for all I know, always has; and to 
 hear Molly talk sometimes brings furrows on Claudia's 
 forehead, and she is fain to come to me for help in 
 the mighty task she has undertaken. 
 
 I own I see that there is small cause for fear, the 
 children are no worse for taking the facts of life as 
 they are, and though I do like to believe in fairies 
 myself, and recollect the one child to whom all life 
 was a fairy dream, I fancy Philip and Molly are of 
 sterner stuff, and will grow up all the better for their 
 sojourn among those who have no ideals and simply 
 work and live. 
 
 Philip certainly never troubles a single soul, though 
 an occasional " swear word " has to be suppressed, but 
 he sings wordless songs in a deep bass voice as he 
 plays, or rather works, for his play consists in making
 
 MAY COWSLIP-TIME 135 
 
 something, no matter what, a hen-coop, a box, a new 
 fort, or else in mending Molly's toys. He never 
 destroys, nor indeed does she, but accidents will 
 happen, and it is well to have a handy man always on 
 the place. With the offering of the first wild rose, 
 Molly and I begin to make friends : she is a brown 
 mouse sort of child : not pretty, though her hair is 
 dark and long and curling, and cut square on a broad 
 forehead that is much too high. 
 
 At first she was inclined to be what old Nurse would 
 have called "whiney," but Claudia soon saw to that. 
 No one should ever tease a whining child, rather should 
 its digestion be looked after : bits at odd times had 
 been the Salway regime, heavy cake made with lard, 
 sour apples and gooseberries, even cheese and 
 common sweets; while when Beata sent her boxes 
 of figs and prunes and chocolates, no curb was put on 
 the child. Mrs. Salway had a curious idea that as 
 the things were sent for them, they should have them 
 at their will ; she had the fierce, almost angry honesty 
 of some of the poor, and would have died rather than 
 touch a crumb ; just as she spent to the last farthing on 
 their clothes and food, merely keeping for herself 
 what Beata paid her for her care. Sometimes I think 
 the children would have been better at home with all 
 their father's fads, and yet when I see Molly take her 
 sewing under the apple-tree in the field and work away 
 as would some old woman, or hear her chide her 
 brother for bringing dirt into the house or waking the
 
 136 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 small Peter from his morning sleep, I recognize the 
 female in her, and I think the early training has done 
 her good. 
 
 While Philip is never idle, and now he begins to 
 look out for Nature's secrets, and has given up 
 throwing stones at every bird and beast he sees, I am 
 sure he will make a good man, especially as he loves 
 his country, and wants either to be a farmer or else a 
 gardener, or a keeper, as is Lucius, he says ; and with 
 Lucius, I, for one, always think he is more than safe. 
 Claudia and I often take him over to the woods now 
 in the car and Lucius is always on the look-out. There 
 are many nests now in that harbour of refuge, and 
 not one not even if they are not the partridges or 
 pheasants shall ever be disturbed. There are 
 delicious nests where the water-hen has her eggs, and 
 one could hear her talking to her husband about them. 
 She is hardly visible now, but once or twice we have 
 caught her taking her exercise with a short paddle in 
 the decoy, while out on the heath Lucius tells us he 
 has found the curlew we have missed for so long, and 
 we are duly elated by this enthralling piece of news. 
 For four years I had known of a pair that built in the 
 bog between the hills and the barrows on the heath, but 
 they had deserted the old place, and I, for one, could 
 never hear of another, and yet here it was, just outside 
 our borders to be sure ; but we could hold our tongues, 
 and we should never tell lest others should scare the 
 birds again away. Really the ways of the curlew are
 
 MAY-COWSLIP-TIME 137 
 
 most enthralling, and even Lucius did not know how 
 long and earnestly I had studied them. 
 
 It was with Professor Newton, of Cambridge, that 
 we made our first successful search, and he did not 
 know, great naturalist that he was, that the birds ever 
 nested in the south of England until we showed him 
 the nest. I had told Lucius to look out, and had 
 repeated to him the fact that when the mating season 
 is on, the male bird always stands motionless on the 
 highest ground he can find, then the moment any 
 human being comes in sight he would signal to the 
 female bird with a curious note. Then they would 
 rise and fly away, but it was no good to make for the 
 spot whence she rose; a curlew is too wily for that. 
 She never rises straight up from her nest, but scuttles 
 along the ground until she is quite fifty yards from it, 
 when she at once flies off as fast as ever she can go. 
 
 Having told Lucius all this, and of our anxiety to 
 find the nest once more, he followed our directions 
 minutely and had stalked the bird, creeping almost 
 level with the heath, and taking great care to be on 
 the windward of the male, who was keeping his usual 
 look-out. 
 
 But presently he uttered his signal, but too late, for 
 the hen rose almost between Lucius's feet, and he saw 
 the nest just as she flew straight up from the much- 
 sought-after spot. Lucius had marked the place for us 
 with four equidistant morsels of wood painted white, 
 and despite the irate father's call we went in single file
 
 138 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 towards the enchanting find. No better spot could 
 possibly have been selected. The hill sloped in a 
 semicircle behind, and in front the view extended 
 over the harbour itself, the river, the landing-place, 
 and away to the heath beyond. We could see the 
 herons standing watching for the fish, and every boat 
 that passed a mile away. So that every creature near 
 must all be seen by the sitting bird, while the back of 
 the hills was watched by the male curlew, who, from 
 his elevated station, could see everything that came 
 on either side. Truly birds such as these are human : 
 what man or woman ever protected her home in this 
 way since protection was necessary? If so, unsanitary 
 slums and " back to back " houses would no longer 
 exist ; for the folk they are meant for would camp out 
 in some one's park and refuse such shelter, had they 
 the knowledge the curlew apparently makes all his 
 own. Then, too, the nest is so simple ! It is only 
 formed by the bird scratching a round hole, the front 
 being flush with the ground, and the back raised a 
 little, doubtless by the action of sitting, while the eggs 
 are almost the colour of the heath, being dark green 
 spotted with brown, and laid point to point in the small 
 hollow that was sparsely lined with dead bracken and 
 morsels of stick. No two eggs were alike, and though 
 Philip begged hard for one we left them and crept 
 away. I love the whistle of the curlew, as, indeed, I 
 love all the so-called melancholy calls of birds. The 
 owl is my special delight, I think, but then I recollect
 
 MAY-COWSLIP-TIME 139 
 
 the delicious laugh of the black-headed gull, the cry 
 of the herring-gull about the cliffs, and the everlasting 
 call of the corncrake that says summer summer 
 summer as loud as it can speak; and I am doubtful 
 if after all the owl is my favourite, or if, indeed, I have 
 a favourite noteA I will make a confession here and 
 say sadly, that for the regular joyous song of the 
 blackbird or thrush, or the wearisome nightingale, I 
 have not the least admiration. How angry I get in 
 the dawn when the blackbirds and thrushes make the 
 garden ring, and other people say how perfect it all 
 is ; and then the nightingale sings when all respectable 
 birds should be in bed. 
 
 I do not want to lie awake and listen : I want to 
 sleep my dreams are my best possessions now-a- 
 days, and I travel miles and meet with such adventures 
 and such genial, happy folk, that my sleep is more 
 precious than I can say, and often I do not know which 
 is my real life and which the one I lead when all the 
 world is at rest. 
 
 y In winter it is different, and I love the wild-fowls' 
 cries as they pass from the head of the river down over 
 my garden to the sea : the harsh calls of the coot and 
 cormorant stir my blood to adventure, while the honk- 
 honk of the wild geese reminds me of Andersen's 
 fairy tales, and I expect to see the princes and 
 princesses emerge from the shadows, though I know 
 the sound means wild weather, and that the geese are 
 going, going farther south.
 
 140 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 Claudia and Philip ran hand in hand back towards 
 the gate where the car awaited them, but Lucius has 
 one more secret for me alone. He "knows for a 
 swan's nest," as is the local jargon; shall he keep it a 
 secret from all, women, men and boys alike ? " Most 
 certainly," I say, " and if possible make a wide circle 
 of brambles round about the place : dogs may discover 
 what we do not, and a male swan when the eggs are 
 laid is not a pleasant creature to meet for any single 
 soul, they are not at all particular whom they attack, 
 and a blow from their great wing would slay your 
 Crusoe, and might seriously injure the great red setter 
 that is surely a descendant of the old Kent strain." 
 
 Lucius smiled. " Indeed he is : I have his pedigree 
 here," and he touched the breast-pocket of his keeper's 
 coat; "such spelling, such names, but the first few 
 lines are in a hand you know, I think," and he drew out 
 a long and filthy sheet of foolscap, at the top of 
 which was the well-beloved Vicar's handwriting, 
 whose presence is embalmed in the woods, and whose 
 spirit, I know, is never far from it at any hour of the 
 day or night. 
 
 How the sight takes me back, and once more I 
 thank whatever Powers there be for my long and most 
 excellent memory ! Again I am in short skirts and 
 curls, and am seated on the sawdust-sprinkled floor 
 of the Vicar's " shop " ; he has been turning some new 
 altar rails for his church, and the delightful smell of 
 fresh wood is all about; yet at the moment he and
 
 MAY COWSLIP-TIME 141 
 
 I and Ethel are busily engaged in persuading some 
 round red-and-white balls of fluff to feed. They suck 
 one's fingers nearly to the bone and so absorb the 
 milk, and soon they take to a baby's bottle kindly, for 
 their mother died in giving them birth, and they are 
 too valuable to be allowed to die, too, if we can in any 
 way prevent such a catastrophe from happening. 
 
 The red setter looks at me with his great, solemn, 
 kind brown eyes and waves his feathered tail; he 
 would never have been here at all had not we reared 
 his great-great-great-grandfather (for I think that is 
 about the relationship between him and the balls of 
 fluff we so faithfully fed), and I pat his head. Long 
 may the strain last, though shooting has deteriorated 
 so dreadfully that I do not know if the kind dogs are 
 still used for the careful work Kent did, and I should 
 love to be rich once more, have some real shooting for 
 Lucius, and walk with him through the turnips, the 
 long leaves turning over and wetting me to the skin, 
 while Kent's feathered tail shows us where the birds 
 lie, and the whole sweet September picture is re-born. 
 
 Yet this is May ! Perhaps Beata may think as I do, 
 or will she consider it her duty to tell Philip all sport 
 is cruel, and that, should he shoot, he may destroy 
 an ancestor, and cause suffering where none should 
 have been ? How foolish those creatures are with their 
 fads about sport ! What death is better than that a 
 clean-killed partridge and pheasant has, or a hare or a 
 rabbit ? Surely it is better to die in an instant than to
 
 142 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 be killed by a stoat as we saw in the wood ; or to creep 
 away and starve as so many wretched birds are com- 
 pelled to do in the winter ! I believe a fox wily 
 thing that he is loves the chase and has no idea of 
 death; he doubles in his tracks and doubles again, just 
 as some shrewd lawyer conducts a case he knows is 
 hopeless, and finally makes for home. If the hounds 
 kill him, his death is instantaneous, and I have, I vow, 
 seen the fox run with a cunning smile on his sharp, 
 expressive face. I would never stop his earth or dig 
 him out, "gone to ground" should be his reward, not 
 his death-cry, and be sure he'll live to give another 
 glorious hour or two before the end. 
 
 Lucius tells me there are too many foxes round my 
 wood for peace, and that he is sure to lose birds when 
 the cubs are hungry and the parents are on the prowl, 
 but I cannot help it, I will let Nature alone here ! 
 She will keep the balance true somehow; and too much 
 protection, I vow, is not good for either man or beast. 
 A call from Philip brings us back to May; we have 
 promised him a ride in the car beyond the wood, and 
 a climb up the hill yonder in search of more cowslips 
 and the rare orchids that are sometimes there. But 
 then he declares he will put that off, for he has found 
 a goldfinches' nest in the wood, and we must come and 
 see the lovely thing. Then Lucius proposes we 
 should see the real decoy pond, but Claudia says 
 another day, the goldfinches have taken up so much 
 time, and besides that, she thinks with me that the
 
 MAY-COWSLIP-TIME 143 
 
 pond is better in autumn, and that we might disturb 
 the nesting birds, and that would get us into horrible 
 trouble with the owner, with whom we have never been 
 on the best of terms. 
 
 I once had the habit, and, indeed, should have it 
 now, if I could walk in the good old way, of unsetting 
 and destroying every trap I ever came across. It is 
 exasperating no doubt when the marsh harrier (a bird 
 the keeper calls a " miserable sort of thing "), slays the 
 tiny teal and wild duck ; but I cannot bear the horrible 
 traps erected on sticks in the heath that catch these 
 gallant birds and slay them terribly. 
 
 They are suspicious creatures, and will only pitch 
 on isolated situations when they can see all round 
 them ; such places as the curlew likes, for example : so 
 the traps are either put on posts or what the keeper 
 calls "turf-pooks" (stacks of turf), and the birds 
 alight unsuspectingly and are caught in the cruel teeth 
 of the horrid trap. 
 
 I invariably also freed the rabbit traps, both these 
 traps are illegal, I know, but who is to set the law in 
 motion ? Not I, i' faith, I will be the law myself where 
 these traps are concerned, and Lucius and Philip 
 promise me to carry on my crusade now my walking 
 days are done, and I can no longer wander free and 
 delighted over the wide and open heath. 
 
 As we drive back it seems to me that every heavenly 
 scent that the country possesses is poured out for us; 
 and the hedges are covered in may blossoms, and the
 
 144 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 gorse is awake and gorgeous to behold. Great tracks 
 of yellow broom are on either hand, and passing the 
 house, that looks more like a bad dream than a home, 
 we notice the rhododendrons are well out, and recall 
 with a laugh how the first owner, coming from his 
 cotton-mills to the south, planted the tremendous 
 plants as covert for the pheasants. The sticky buds 
 did not please the creatures naturally, but the rhodo- 
 dendrons remain and flourish ; it is only the other day 
 they were planted, and now all those who planted 
 them are dead, and I, only I, am left, so it seems, to 
 recollect it all. 
 
 Claudia drives with care into the town, and up the 
 lane, and Philip declares he is dying for his tea, and 
 then Claudia suggests to me another jaunt. 
 
 How well I should have loved this easy means of 
 getting about the country in the first days of my rustic 
 life! 
 
 It was years and years before I knew there was a 
 land of enchantment beyond the first range of hills, 
 and indeed, even now folk know it so little that I am 
 always loath to tell of it at all. But one cannot let 
 May go by without a visit to the dear little house at 
 Steeple, where once I had some charming years of 
 peace and rest : the meadows round there are full of 
 cowslips, and we can see the poor old Manor-houses 
 fallen from their high estate now, and only the homes 
 of farmer folk, who cannot keep them up as they were 
 meant to be, and in consequence, they are one and all
 
 MAY COWSLIP-TIME 145 
 
 declining sadly before the march of time. I am not 
 sufficiently of the present day to look upon the cutting 
 up of the land and the portioning of large estates with 
 the enthusiastic favour so many people who have 
 never lived in the country all too often do. I 
 maintain that given a good landlord, one who lives in 
 the " big house " and does his duty by his people, that 
 no better management of the land can possibly be, 
 and I, for one, cannot understand why this cannot be 
 maintained. 
 
 Just as the heralds of old conducted the visitations 
 that ensured no one should use a crest unless he could 
 prove his right to it, and pay certain fees and fines, so 
 surely a properly constituted tribunal could see what 
 landlord lived on his land and kept his tenants 
 content, happy, and well-housed; this being the case, 
 then that man could certainly be left alone. The 
 absentee landlord should have no mercy, neither 
 should he whose cottages were a disgrace, or even 
 fallen down, while he wasted his substance in riotous 
 living, and spent the money ground out of his tenants 
 in distant lands, or merely on his own selfish pleasures, 
 be they what they may. 
 
 There is no greater difference in landlords than in 
 those of whom I have had knowledge : on the one 
 hand the man who lived among his people and did all 
 he could, either by example or with money ill spared 
 for them one and all, and on the other the man who 
 was never there except to find fault because the rents
 
 146 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 were not high enough to please him, and because the 
 tenants of the big house, always changing, always 
 going on, had not done this or that, or spent what he 
 considered they ought on the keeping up of the poor 
 unhappy place. 
 
 I can recollect when all landlords were more or less 
 hard and cruel, and treated their tenants as if they 
 were quite the serfs of old time, but their day is long 
 done, and I only regret that no one now sees how 
 good the good ones are who have learned their lesson 
 and endeavour their hardest to set their forebears' 
 ways right. But the good and bad suffer alike now- 
 a-days, or rather the good suffer for what was once 
 bad, and I could not name half-a-dozen landlords who 
 are able at the present time to do what they could once 
 so easily have accomplished. 
 
 "Ill fares that land to every ill a prey, 
 Where wealth accumulates and men decay." 
 
 The quotation is not quite right, but is near enough 
 to express all I mean. It is sad to me to drive along 
 the deep high-hedged road towards our destination, 
 and recollect the many who have gone that way before 
 me, and to see the dear old houses fallen away from 
 their once comfortable estate. 
 
 The county history tells one the names of those who 
 once lived there, but that is all dry bones, I like to think 
 of the real folk who looked out from the mullioned 
 windows and lived their quiet, useful lives, though
 
 MAY COWSLIP-TIME 147 
 
 their stories are lost in the mists of time. We have 
 to drive very slowly; all the better say I, and so say 
 the children, for the hedges are full of primroses and 
 violets and the cowslips are in the fields, and, more- 
 over, there are arms-full of grasses, ragged robins and 
 campion to be gathered, while I can look at the old 
 houses and tell Claudia of the days that are no more. 
 One house stands solitary and alone at the top of a 
 high-pitched hill ; it was built more than a hundred 
 years ago for a bride who, coming south as travelling 
 bridesmaid to her sister, met her fate here and never 
 went back to her Midland home. The walls are 
 double and filled in with Portland cement to withstand 
 the tremendous storms that rage along the coast, and 
 from here she used to look out to see if the beacons 
 were lighted that should tell her the dreaded Bona- 
 parte had landed, and that war was let loose in the 
 land. She had seen the " monster " land in the little 
 cove by Lulworth, and heard him say in French that 
 such an invasion was impossible, but she never lost 
 her fear. She was over one hundred when she told 
 me her tale, and she said his name made her shudder 
 even now. What a store of history died with her, to 
 be sure, yet she was a simple soul, proud of her home 
 and her husband, and so strong and splendid that on 
 her golden wedding day she rode on horseback all 
 round their farm, and was not the least bit tired 
 after all. 
 
 I asked her if she recollected her husband, who had
 
 148 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 died many, many years ago, and she said, "Ah, yes, 
 indeed, and I shall soon see him again, but then he 
 will be coming up the hills of heaven with the sun- 
 rise in his face; the first time I saw him the sunset 
 shone on him on these dear hills of ours; but when 
 we meet it will be different, it will be the sunrise, and 
 we shall never part again." 
 
 A simple soul, a simple faith, at any rate they sleep 
 together under the great gaunt yew, where the red 
 berries are the autumn food for the thrushes, while 
 the stones of the berries fall and decay underneath it 
 and are eagerly appropriated by the tits, who pick them 
 up, grind holes in them against the rough trunk of a 
 neighbouring pear-tree, and then quickly devour the 
 small seed enclosed within the stone. 
 
 " Shall we ever reach Steeple ? " ask the children, 
 to whom my stories are not so interesting as the pro- 
 posed cowslip raid and the picnic luncheon on the 
 steps outside the dear little church. Oh yes, behold 
 the dip and the first gate, and as we negotiate that 
 and wait for the second one to be opened, we notice 
 that the beautiful mullioned windows have gone from 
 the farm and are replaced by sash windows, and make 
 me shiver. Painted blue, they scream aloud at me, 
 " Look at us, do ! " and I am glad I no longer live in 
 sight of such desecration. Light and air are neces- 
 sary, of course, but the mullions were so good. Well ! 
 I will not look again, but gaze at the view which haunts 
 me in my dreams, and Claudia urges the car over
 
 MAY COWSLIP-TIME 149 
 
 the rough and dirty road but slowly, and at last we 
 have reached the promised rest. 
 
 No horses to take out, or feed, or look after : Claudia 
 does something mysterious that prevents the car 
 moving, and we seat ourselves for our feast. At 
 least they do, they have no memories. I look over 
 the gate so longingly at the dear garden where once 
 Marjorie played and Red Indians came at our call, 1 
 but all are vanished now, only the great myrtle is there 
 and the clematis Montana, but the roses have dis- 
 appeared and the clematis Jackmanii is not out yet on 
 the porch. It is very trim and neat, but it is not my 
 garden, and I prefer the churchyard, for there lie many 
 of my old acquaintances, and others whose stories have 
 been told me by those who have now joined them, 
 wherever they may be. 
 
 I wonder none of the ubiquitous Americans have 
 ever found out Steeple, for here are the Washington 
 arms emblazoned on a dozen different spots, or rather 
 should be emblazoned where they are merely now cut 
 in stone, or else smeared over in black and white. 
 The exquisite wagon roof has bosses at each end with 
 the Laurence arms quartered with the Washingtons, 
 and all should be picked out in heraldic colouring and 
 the walls stripped from the horrid whitewash and 
 made perfect once more. I do not love the American 
 nation, but I could forgive them much if they 
 would take Steeple Church in hand and restore it 
 1 See Leaves from a Garden.
 
 150 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 to the tiny gem it could no doubt be easily made once 
 more. 
 
 Shouts from the children recall me to the present 
 day. I could dream here for ever, but that may not 
 be : they want to see the sea and the twin islands of 
 Pain (Portland) and of Pleasure (the Wight) from 
 the top of Grange Hill, and though I have qualms 
 Claudia has none. We climb with care up the steep 
 and winding road and come out just beyond the 
 " Folly " and then the children see the islands. I 
 like them best in the gloaming, when the lights dart out 
 into the sea : and best of all when the bay is full of our 
 great ships and the searchlights play round the coast. 
 
 The view is always splendid at morning, noon and 
 night, but never so inspiring as when the ships are in 
 at Portland, and we feel the mighty heart of our 
 Empire is beating true and safely, and that she herself 
 is ever on her guard. No soldiers please me as do 
 the ships, and since they have become clad in the drab 
 of khaki stir me not a whit, and for officers I care not 
 at all. The merest militia man calls himself colonel 
 and struts amain in the streets, and I care not for him 
 or his half-cousin in the regulars, But I own a sailor 
 gives me joy as a middy, a lieutenant, or a captain, or 
 a plain, stray, uniformed Jack Tar ! How charming 
 they are, to be sure ! and, of course, Philip says he 
 will be a sailor, now he sees the ships, though I still 
 think ploughing the fields will please him better than 
 ploughing the vast and ever-changing main.
 
 MA Y COWSLIP-TIME 1 51 
 
 Slowly, slowly, with what I should call a drag 
 sternly on, go we down Grange Hill, and at the bottom 
 pause while I show the children the squirrels and the 
 beautiful peacocks between the sombre yews. Pea- 
 cocks are not lucky, they say : they are Jove's birds, 
 and should never be confined or hurt ; these peacocks 
 are well cared for, and so tame they take bread and 
 butter from our hands should we have tea in the 
 garden, but luck does not come to the house under the 
 hill, and I note with dismay that the clay works creep 
 nearer and nearer and are almost up to the lovely little 
 pond. I wish some of the numerous artists round 
 about would paint it before something happens to 
 cause it to disappear. 
 
 It is an age of rush, of hurry, of use ; will beauty die 
 beneath the chariot wheels of time, I wonder ? Look- 
 ing at the awful post impressionists and artists who 
 represent the art of the day, I tremble, even as I 
 tremble when I see the horrid toys children are given 
 and the hideous books they are allowed to have. I 
 would taboo all gollywogs and Buster Brown atroci- 
 ties. There are others : Beatrice Potter's dainty little 
 booklets delight me and they are modern, so it is not 
 because I am old-fashioned that I forbid the intrusion 
 of ugliness into the nurseries where I have still a word 
 or two to say. 
 
 But we are at home and the children have the 
 flowers to pack and dispatch and we have not much 
 time to spare, for the post goes earlier now than in the
 
 152 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 days of old. No leisurely sauntering up at ten with 
 the bag and a chat with the long-dead postmaster, 
 with his love of old china and his knowledge of all 
 our doings and sayings. Everything is prompt and 
 official now and as it should be, but sometimes I 
 wonder if I should not prefer the dear dead days when 
 all the post cards were read, every telegram was public 
 property before I knew their contents myself, and 
 when a friendly postman would carry an order, a small 
 parcel, a message, or even give one a lift in the post- 
 cart, if one met him out on his long and weary round. 
 I am left to wonder, sunk down on the sofa and 
 more tired than I care to confess, for the flowers 
 and the children are busy together in their part of the 
 house, and the May evening is drawing in. Claudia 
 comes and takes my hand quietly ; the first star gleams 
 out beyond the dark ilex on the lawn, and presently 
 the nightingale begins her song. So it has been for 
 years, so it will be for years and years, no doubt. I 
 do not care, I have had my day, and the evening is 
 not so hard as I thought it might be now I have 
 Claudia and can hear far-off the voices that might 
 belong to those who were my own while yet I, too, was 
 young and happy in my own peculiar way.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 JUNE ROSES, ROSES ALL THE WAY 
 
 I THINK of all the months of the year I am merriest 
 in the merry month of June, at any rate, given a 
 country house and a garden and sunshine and all that 
 makes life a real and ever-present joy. 
 
 It is the second June since Beata came to Ham- 
 worth, and already Peter staggers about the garden, 
 falling hither and thither and talking a language all 
 his very own. 
 
 I love to see Molly with him, she is a true little 
 mother, and guards his small red head that Beata calls 
 golden, and " poors " his tiny knees and hands should 
 he fall on the gravel; the while he talks on and on 
 and never cries, hurts he himself as much as even a 
 very small creature can. Give Peter a pencil and a 
 scrap of paper, and Peter does not trouble any one of 
 us at all. In some curious way he goes back to Beata's 
 grandfather, a famous artist at which the present 
 generation scoffs, to repent in sackcloth and ashes 
 doubtless when it has grown up and cut its wisdom 
 teeth, and Peter holds his pencil as to the manner 
 born. There is no uncertainty about his grasp, and 
 he looks now and then at something he means to 
 
 153
 
 154 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 draw some day, as I have so often seen my own father 
 look when he was painting. Now his head one side, 
 now that, and now leaning back to get a better view. 
 Doubtless Peter will one day be an artist, if so, I 
 trust Art may have returned to us herself. ; Art should 
 be beautiful in form and colour alike, it is not enough 
 to have colour only, I say. I want both, but to see 
 pictures now-a-days one must have them in one's head, 
 there are none painted now that will live, of that I am 
 very sure. The colours of most of them will fade to 
 nothing or cake off, while the interpreters of the craze 
 being dead, none will remain who can translate the 
 meaningless trash they produce to the ordinary 
 passer-by. . 
 
 It is the fashion at present to deride my father's 
 work; but I saw his powerful pictures not long ago, 
 and I defy any one now-a-days to produce his clear 
 and gorgeous colouring : there are greens and yellows 
 and reds as fine as ever is Romney's blue. Were I 
 not aware that it is impossible, I should say that the 
 present-day men mix their colours either with mud or 
 blue starch, while the colours they find must be pur- 
 chased in Bedlam : they are not Nature's colours, and 
 indeed Nature, an' she could, would repudiate them, 
 even as I do myself. 
 
 I am impelled to this from watching Peter as he 
 "works," though at present he has only a pencil, and 
 no one could say for what his pictures are meant. 
 But he positively glories in colour, and small as he
 
 JUNE ROSES, ROSES ALL THE WAY 155 
 
 is I have found him under the old, dark-red rose- 
 tree, gazing at it as if he could not leave it, and 
 touching now and then its almost black velvet petals 
 with his tiny pink fingers as if he wanted to know of 
 what the colour was composed. The yellow-white 
 Gloire de Dijon pleases him equally, I think, but more 
 because it is such a mass of blossoms, than because it 
 is yellow and wellnigh pink close at its heart ; he has 
 a curious dislike to the rampant crimson rambler, yet 
 why curious? I do not like it either, it is assertive, 
 blatant, and the colour is crude. I much prefer 
 Dorothy Perkins, though as she blooms later, Peter 
 has not seen her yet, and I shall look out to see what 
 he thinks about it when she hangs out her festoons 
 over the old garden wall. We have progressed much 
 in the short year we have all spent together, and the 
 trellis-work gate is scarcely or ever closed, and I find 
 that the children resemble me more than I thought 
 children could, and it is a high honour to them, as it 
 was to me, to hold the tiny pegs when the verbenas 
 have to be pegged down in their beds, and that their 
 joy of fruit in the garden is the same joy I used to 
 have at Bestwall, when I was a small London girl and 
 fancied it came into being in baskets in our green- 
 grocer's shop in the Bayswater road. None of these 
 three have ever had the freedom of a fruit garden, or, 
 indeed, knew what fruit can be at all; there was no 
 garden behind the cottage where the elder ones were 
 reared, and though I hear of the allotments out by
 
 156 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 the workhouse, I know they are filled with vegetables. 
 There may be a few prickly gooseberry bushes, but 
 even so, children are not allowed to gather from them, 
 and a sparse feed of blackberries is the only idea they 
 have of what freshly-gathered fruit may mean. 
 
 Claudia has certainly had a wonderful effect both 
 on Molly and Philip, and they no longer trample on 
 the flower-beds or go where they ought not. True, 
 my gardener is young and not so stern and stiff as 
 McCrae, and I think he prefers the children in the 
 garden to the hard work that is McCrae's idea of bliss ; 
 all the same, they can be trusted to gather the straw- 
 berries for tea and breakfast, and are dismayed to 
 find that Robin the collie eats strawberries too, and 
 cannot be allowed in the lower garden until the days 
 of temptation are over and gone. Not to be trusted 
 in the lower garden would be a dreadful punishment, 
 and they slip past Robin with their baskets, shutting 
 the gate carefully in his wistful face : they feel the 
 dear dog is disgraced, and in consequence they are 
 extra careful to prove that they are not, as he most 
 undoubtedly is, careless thieves. 
 
 It is almost incredible to me how miserable I have 
 been in that lower garden, now I am in a serene back- 
 water, and only have to watch the surging of the tide. 
 How often I have sat on the low stone step leading 
 down to the boat, and wondered why I was in such a 
 hateful place. I wanted the stir and happenings of 
 London, and the interesting people I used to know;
 
 JUNE ROSES, ROSES ALL THE WAY 157 
 
 now nothing seemed to happen, save little cruel 
 gossipings and slanders, and one's lightest sayings 
 and doings were town talk before one realized that 
 such could interest the smallest soul. London, 
 London called me, and I pined for all I had once 
 had. What did it matter to me that some one's cook 
 had gone off with the milk boy, or that some one was 
 shrewdly suspected to be deep in debt ? Or that some 
 one was giving what she was pleased to call a party, 
 and had not asked me, because she knew I called her 
 parties dull (which they were)? But in those days a 
 dull party was better than none at all. 
 
 When I look back at that time I marvel at all I 
 missed and all I might have done and had, but I 
 always " discounted my troubles," as my old doctor 
 told me, and snatched at my pleasures before they 
 were fully ripe. Just as Peter would gather the 
 strawberries, for my thoughts are interrupted by Molly 
 and the small culprit who, making his way down to 
 the strawberry gatherers, has clutched a spray bearing 
 one ripe fruit, some blooms and a great cluster of green 
 fruit in the manner strawberries will always grow. 
 I try to look sternly at the youth, but I cannot. I 
 have so many green berries to my name, so many 
 blossoms that will never bear fruit, and at any rate he 
 has one ripe berry. I put it into his rosy mouth, and 
 Molly leaves him with me, carefully closing the gate ; 
 after all, Robin and Peter must alike be excluded ! 
 There is the river to dread, besides the waste of the
 
 158 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 fruit, and little as I thought I should ever care 
 for Peter, the idea of that red head among the 
 water-lily roots wakes me at night from my horrid 
 dream. 
 
 There are no real lessons in June, July and August 
 for the children, though lessons never really stop 
 while Claudia is about. We have no schoolroom, and 
 lessons are learned out of doors, and resemble play 
 more than work, for as Molly and Philip can read 
 and write, it is astonishing how much one can teach 
 them without drudgery and toil. 
 
 My mind goes back to my schoolroom days, and 
 I recollect how I hated them, one and all. The hot 
 room, smelling of mutton and cabbage, the hateful 
 books, the Guide to Knowledge, which was not know- 
 ledge in the least, and the smeared slates and general 
 hatefulness of the life which never taught me one 
 single thing. Now the children are out of doors the 
 whole day long, and there is neither mutton nor rice 
 these steamy, summer days. There is fish and chicken 
 and fruit in plenty, and delicately cooked vegetables. 
 No " good plain cook " suits Beata, she has a French- 
 woman who understands her work, and loathes the 
 sodden stuff the ordinary English cook provides, 
 neither does she hanker after vast hunks of meat. 
 
 I have grown younger since Beata took over the 
 food question, and as for the lessons ! we are sur- 
 rounded by history, and it is better to take the children 
 out in the car and show them where the Romans lived
 
 JUNE-ROSES, ROSES ALL THE WAY 159 
 
 and died and where the Danes came up the river 
 and fought, and where we held the town for the King, 
 than to make them learn a string of names and dates 
 that can never be interesting, look at them how one 
 will. 
 
 Hamworth was once the centre of many a mighty 
 deed and many a curious happening, and I can tell 
 them how when the Roundheads, having taken posses- 
 sion of the place for the hundredth time, they were 
 frightened away by seeing a tremendous force of 
 Cavaliers coming over the hills to attack them, and 
 they fled before the sight, and the sound they declared 
 they heard of the trampling of the horses' feet. True, 
 the Cavaliers were mist only, and the sound was the 
 sound of the sea far, far off, magnified, as sound so 
 often is, by the atmospheric conditions. But for years 
 the good folk of Hamworth believed a ghostly army 
 had been sent to save them, just as they used to believe 
 that the splendid roar of the sea in the cliffs beyond 
 Studland was the sound of King Alfred's army. 
 There it sleeps always ready to defend us should there 
 be cause, and we know that King Alfred was here 
 once and gave battle to the Danes in the wide bay 
 of Swanage. For has not some unconscious humorist 
 erected a column to commemorate the event, and 
 crowned it with cannon balls ? The ordinary trippers 
 believed in those cannon balls at one time as relics 
 of the fight, they know better now, though I am not 
 sure they are any better on the whole for knowing
 
 160 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 that same small idiosyncrasy of ours to be what it 
 truly is ! 
 
 But perhaps it is on the walls that the children love 
 best to hear of what Hamworth once saw and knew, 
 though it is rather what the old Hamworth knew, not 
 the present more modernized spot, for after the great 
 fire raged, only about half-a-dozen houses were left; 
 yet the tradition lingers still, and we know where there 
 were fourteen churches, though only three remain, and 
 one of them is more than ample for the congregation 
 that gathers there when Sunday comes. 
 
 No one yet has discovered the secret of the walls 
 or their age, or when they were made or by whom. 
 The quaint earthworks run round the sleepy little town 
 on three sides only, and so one side is left open and 
 undefended ! But in the days when defence was 
 necessary, a long stretch of marsh and winding river 
 served to protect the inhabitants far better even than 
 any walls could do. Now the marsh has become water 
 meadows, and the river runs but soberly between its 
 low, green banks, where we can see the pink-tinted, 
 ragged robin and the yellow iris as the wind blows 
 gently over the meadows, now deep in grass ready 
 to be cut. Indeed, in some places hay is being 
 carried, and where was once a vast battle plain, bright 
 green patches show where the crop has been removed, 
 while the strong scent of the hay speaks of more to be 
 speedily taken away in its turn. 
 
 We often talk of battles on the walls, and the 

 
 JUNE ROSES, ROSES ALL THE WAY 161 
 
 children shudder when they pass Bloody Bank, where 
 after Judge Jeffreys held his horrible assizes in 
 Dorchester eight gallant gentlemen were executed. 
 We must tell them these things, for they are history, 
 and make us all thankful that such deeds can no longer 
 be done, and we even travel along the lonely road to 
 Dorchester to look up at the wicked judge's lodgings, 
 at which we solemnly shake our fists, because Philip 
 hopes his ghost may be about somewhere and see us 
 in the act. 
 
 What a joyous ride that was, to be sure! for we 
 flew along the straight Roman road to Bere Regis, 
 and stayed a moment to look at Woodbury Hill and 
 to visit the tombs of the de Turbevilles, a descendant 
 of whom, called Durbeyfield, once worked hard and 
 honestly for us. But in those days Hardy had not 
 raised the family from the dust and made them 
 immortal; better for them, no doubt, but at any rate 
 to us, the descendant of a long line of Norman folk 
 was a labourer, and indeed never wanted to be any- 
 thing else ! Still it brought the Norman well into 
 sight to look on the tombs and hear the old chronicles. 
 William I, 1066, may be necessary knowledge, but I 
 would rather see where his warriors sleep and know 
 just how the land looks where he and his once more 
 are conquerors and lived and moved and died. 
 
 How short a time it all seems, for it does not take us 
 ten minutes before we are in another age, and are at 
 another old church, where the oaken singing gallery is
 
 162 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 as it was in the time of James I, and though a recent 
 squire has done his worst to restore the church, he has 
 not done what might have happened in earlier times ; 
 for the Society of Ancient Buildings keeps a sharp 
 look-out, and has saved the three-decker pulpit and the 
 high pews, though no doubt the church would be more 
 comfortable if these latter objects, at any rate, were 
 removed. Had I been young I should have said, 
 "Down with them all," but now I know better, and 
 even would keep an old abuse, so conservative does 
 one get in one's old age, because one feels that all old 
 things are going and that soon it will be our portion 
 to go too. 
 
 The children are rather impatient at our love of old 
 churches and churchyards, and even grumble at our 
 stopping at Stinsford, but Claudia is determined to 
 drop a tear on Lady Susan O'Brien's tomb, and tells 
 them how she ran away with an actor and how her 
 family cut her off for many and many a year. By now 
 we are come to the Georgian era, for did not her bosom 
 friend, Lady Sarah Lennox, just miss being England's 
 Queen? She was a flighty, lovable girl, for all her 
 sins, and she gave the gallant Napier brothers to 
 England. I wonder if she had married George III 
 if her sons would have been as gallant too, but I think 
 the Napier blood brought in the fighting staying 
 power, and that probably poor Lady Sarah would have 
 withered in the austere Court of his Majesty the King. 
 
 Claudia cannot shed her tear, for we cannot find a
 
 JUNE-ROSES, ROSES ALL THE WAY 163 
 
 grave, only a hideous monument on the wall : two 
 marble hearts with a short inscription on each, and she 
 puts her roses there. After all, she was not far out, 
 the devoted husband and wife lie in a vault below 
 the church, and will hear the trotting of the small 
 choir boys as they pass, or the devouter steps of the 
 communicants as they pass to the altar. I would 
 rather lie outside in the sweet air; let us hope they 
 are free somewhere from the burden of their flesh and 
 state. She was ever a lover of freedom, and no doubt 
 she has somewhere what she most loved. 
 
 The children, of course, are impatient of all this, 
 but I tell them it is a lesson, and if they would prefer 
 it we will return at once to Hamworth (after demon- 
 strating against the cruel judge as aforesaid), and 
 they shall sit down to books and study the history of 
 from 1066 straight up to the present day. But natur- 
 ally they decline : we say good-bye to Stinsford and 
 go on our voyage of vengeance, and having shaken 
 our fists right gallantly at the windows we return home 
 another way, past Max Gate, sacred to our great 
 novelist, past Came, where the delightful poet Barnes 
 once had his home, past Winfrith and then on over 
 Woolbridge, where the ghosts live, and where Tess 
 and her husband spent their one tempestuous hour of 
 honeymoon, and which holds the grim portraits on 
 the stairway which Hardy describes, but which no one 
 apparently can really name. Who were the gaunt 
 originals, I wonder? No one knows, so let them be,
 
 164 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 doubtless they too lived and loved and suffered, and 
 so the world goes on, reckless of individual life in 
 any shape or form. We do not meet one single soul 
 on our way home, though there are graves enough and 
 to spare, full of those whom once we could have 
 encountered. 
 
 There was at one time quite a little group of isolated 
 " county folk " here, now they are all gone. I do not 
 know who owns their houses, or the names of the 
 people about; but then, until Claudia came, I had 
 hardly left the house for years. Why should I? I 
 had my occupation and my garden, and no money. If 
 one goes about one must have clothes and entertain, 
 poverty means much more to those who have once had 
 plenty than it ever can to those who have never had 
 enough to eat and wear. 
 
 I bless the day that brought me Claudia, and I even 
 am inclined to bless Beata and the bonnie bairns, for 
 though I do not like children, these three are a con- 
 stant joy. My own made me wretched with nervous 
 fears and dreads, and I did not understand as I do 
 now how much better they would have been with fitter 
 food, and lessons such as Claudia gives, and I was 
 always expecting some untoward fate for them, be- 
 sides, somehow in those days I was never really well. 
 Age allows one to gain and keep a poise, other people's 
 children do not alarm one as one's own did, and if 
 Beata's had croup or scarlet fever or anything, I should 
 send for a nurse and leave them to her and Beata. I
 
 JUNE ROSES, ROSES ALL THE WAY 165 
 
 should not start up at each creaking door, each move- 
 ment in the house : with one's own one must, and 
 children are, as the old woman said, a "careful com- 
 fort," after all. 
 
 Philip had become rather restive after his dose of 
 history, and declared for a day spent in learning 
 nothing, and on the walls first and then on the river 
 in the evening, when the salmon nets are drawn, and 
 we could count how many came into each net. Molly 
 was more bent on the walls : she likes to watch the 
 wily trout in the North river in the evening, for then 
 they rise suddenly, darting after a fly; but few are 
 caught here, they are very artful, and at the first alarm 
 of danger are off and away to lie close under the big 
 stones in the mill hatches, whence nothing will bring 
 them out once they are safely in shelter. We are 
 very fond of the mill, and love the rush and clatter 
 when it is at work. From it we can look straight down 
 into a clump of rushes, where a staid and stately duck 
 has made her nest, and is seated there quietly, her 
 brown back just glistening where the sun's latest rays 
 fall upon her. Then the miller comes out, and goes 
 across the meadow to a coop. He is rearing fourteen 
 tiny partridges there, under a motherly hen : she clucks 
 him a respectful welcome as he gives her corn, and 
 then he shakes a handful of earth full of the yellow 
 ants' eggs into the shallow box covered with wire, into 
 which the tiny birds run at his voice. Then we can 
 watch him look cautiously round, and finally give a
 
 166 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 low, peculiar cry, and in a moment another hen jumped 
 out of a clump of water weeds, witheys and closely 
 growing foliage. She is the foster-mother of some 
 tiny pheasants, and seeing all is safe she calls in her 
 turn to six little brown things the size of blackbirds. 
 These once fed, retreat again to their almost inacces- 
 sible shelter for the night, where, safe from their great 
 enemy the water rat, they are hived on the high ground 
 behind the willows, and only come out when no one 
 is about, or when their owner calls them to be fed. I 
 tell the children of Tom, the great old cat who used 
 to live in the mill and fish solemnly for eels whenever 
 he could, and I have seen him catch them when the 
 wheel is still, as I have seen the pond below the mill 
 full of great salmon spawning on the gravel bed, but 
 in these days I fancy there are no salmon in the North 
 river, but I am not sure, and the miller is new. I 
 do not want to talk to him as I used to the old one, 
 it would bring back old memories too sadly. Memories 
 of elections fought shoulder to shoulder : of ideas 
 shared in common, which have since crystallized into 
 facts, and very unpleasant facts too, now they have 
 really come to birth. I would rather be the ghost I 
 feel in Hamworth, save for Claudia and Beata and 
 the children. The old days, the old folk, are dead, 
 and of many of both I do not want to see the 
 resurrection. 
 
 But how times have changed, to be sure ; there were 
 two mills once in this river in full working order. One
 
 JUNE ROSES, ROSES ALL THE WAY 167 
 
 was a paper mill, but I do not know how long that 
 has been gone, another still exists, but I have not seen 
 the wheel going myself for years, and one can only 
 get now and then the sweet flour, ground between the 
 millstones, that makes the most delicious bread in the 
 whole world. I know but one place where I can 
 procure it, and we make the bread for the children in 
 the vast brick oven that once baked for a large family 
 and for all the maltsters as well. Now the maltsters 
 come no more with the fading year, for the brewery is 
 closed and silent, save for a clerk or two who look 
 after the stores. There is no deliciously-scented 
 barley slowly turning to malt on the wide stone floor, 
 and I wonder what the men are doing who used to 
 come year after year as maltsters, and for whom I had 
 to prepare food and see after their blankets, and who 
 baked potatoes for us in the malt-house fires, that, 
 watched day and night, were never allowed for one 
 minute to go out, until the season was over, the houses 
 closed and the blankets washed and stored carefully 
 away. 
 
 Truly it is a pity all these manufacturers are 'done 
 away with in small country towns. Once there were 
 three breweries, now there is none. I recollect tan- 
 pits, and sundry other industries, while the harness 
 made in the place wore for ever, as did the homespun 
 cloth. I expect the forge will go next : there are few 
 horses to shoe now-a-days, and what a loss to the 
 country-side that will be ! The clang of the hammer,
 
 168 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 the glow of the fire, the group waiting about the forge, 
 all will disappear. In the olden days the shoemaker 
 and the blacksmith knew all the news and argued 
 wildly about politics, religion and the state of trade, 
 now, if anything is discussed, it is football and the 
 odds on races, not an advance, surely, and now-a-days 
 religion hardly troubles the working classes at all ! I 
 wish I could have taken the children round the malt- 
 houses in the good old way, after church, but I cannot. 
 The malt-houses are done away with, and we none of 
 us trouble the church, nor indeed does the church 
 trouble us. 
 
 It is brand new inside, all sticky pitch-pine, with 
 a dreadful altar, as if cut out in thin wood with a fret- 
 work saw. The dear old galleries are gone, and all 
 is new and blatant. There are only ghosts, too, in 
 the seats, all, all are gone, the old familiar faces, and 
 shall I form one of a congregation not one soul in 
 which would know me or care? Besides, we have a 
 different idea for the children, and at present, at any 
 rate, they shall not be troubled with creed or isms at 
 all. They shall come gradually to some belief in a 
 higher power than ours, but they must first learn the 
 dignity of service, and that they are here to govern, 
 first themselves, and then to make the world a little 
 better than it was before they came. 
 
 I suppose the walk round the walls had tired me, 
 and besides that I always recollect the old days there 
 more than anywhere else. It used to be the Sunday
 
 JUNE ROSES, ROSES ALL THE WAY 169 
 
 promenade after church, and there we all met and 
 talked. Unitarians, Dissenters and all met and graci- 
 ously spoke together, as a rule the Churchfolk ignored 
 the others, but the walls were neutral ground, and 
 perhaps Sunday had softened the asperities, though 
 this was not always so. I have seen the oldest in- 
 habitants elbow each other on their way to the altar, 
 for there was an unwritten etiquette as to whom should 
 approach the sacred table first, and oh ! what tales have 
 I heard in the porch ! But 'tis well to forget those 
 foolish folk, who all lie straight and cold in their bones 
 in the churchyard; at any rate, they are equal there, 
 though even there the creeds have different locations, 
 and the Dissenters have a corner far away from the 
 more orthodox of the human family of the dead ! 
 
 I was almost asleep when Lucius came up the steps 
 and told me the boat was ready and the children 
 impatient to set off lest they should not see the salmon 
 nets really drawn. But I beg to be excused and they 
 go off without me, for I do not like to see the splendid 
 silver fish brought struggling ashore and then ham- 
 mered on the head with a great stake. Of course, 
 they must be put out of their misery, I know, but all 
 the same I would rather not see the deed accom- 
 plished, and I doubt if the children will want to repeat 
 the sight once they have experienced it all. 
 
 It is about fifty years ago, I think, that Frank 
 Buckland came down to explore all the salmon rivers 
 in England, and took our river under his especial
 
 170 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 note. It has always held salmon within the memory 
 of man, but before Buckland came the fish were few 
 and far between. Some years before that the poor 
 fish could not come up the river to spawn : they were 
 caught in a hoop net by the bridge, and beyond that 
 was such a mass of weed and rubbish that the few 
 that did escape the net were lost. The hoop net was 
 done away with when my father-in-law took over the 
 fishing, and the salmon began to increase, especially 
 as he had the river cleared, but even then there were 
 two mills the fish could not pass. Buckland instructed 
 the millers in the whole art of salmon rearing, and, 
 moreover, put in two salmon ladders, up which the 
 fish climbed when the hatches were closed. Then 
 there was a salmon hatchery at Critchel, where " Jerry 
 Sturt," the first Lord Alington, lived then, and this 
 was a great interest, and from this the river was 
 stocked. Mr. Sturt, as he was then, could never resist 
 a joke. I recollect his making me very indignant one 
 day by "demanding to know what I was bringing back 
 in a bag from Dorchester, and promising to eat one 
 of whatever it was if I would only tell him what the 
 bag contained. I did, the bag held muffins, and he 
 had to eat one there and then. I scored then, but 
 he did later on, for he asked an old sporting parson 
 to see the hatchery, and at dinner, when they had 
 salmon, declared it had come from the place they had 
 just seen. The Parson, who was much given to sending 
 long letters to the local paper, sent an account of the
 
 JUNE-ROSES, ROSES ALL THE WAY 171 
 
 wonderful fact that he had partaken of salmon hatched 
 at Mr. Sturt's hatchery at the Critchel table ! I do 
 not think he sent many more letters to the paper, this 
 one raised a storm of ridicule he never forgot, and 
 he lay low at any rate on the subject of salmon for 
 the rest of his natural life ! Frank Buckland was 
 curious to know if there were any writings forbidding 
 apprentices to be given salmon more than two or three 
 times a week in the Corporation annals, but all these 
 perished in the great fire, and he said he had only 
 found one or two in all his searchings, and, indeed, I 
 'doubt those ! 
 
 Even now, with the conservators doing their duty, 
 and the fish encouraged to the utmost, salmon is never 
 really cheap, and I never recollect it being less than 
 one-and-twopence a pound in all the years we had 
 the fishing ourselves. 
 
 There are water bailiffs also, to look after the fish, 
 for it was found that when the river was turned into 
 the " carriers " to flood the meadows, because the silt 
 the river brings down enriches the soil, men discovered 
 out-of-condition fish in the lakes and caught them and 
 sold them sometimes for a shilling or a shilling and 
 sixpence, a great fish of twenty pounds, only fit to be 
 put back in the river ! Only the poor folk bought 
 them, of course, knowing no better, and that they were 
 not fit for sale, but the water bailiffs soon stopped a 
 practice I have only heard of, but that is known quite 
 well to have occurred by those who knew Hamworth
 
 172 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 even before I did myself. Now the better and more 
 sportsmanlike method of fly-fishing from the river 
 banks is employed too, but the main catch is in nets, 
 and that is a sight I, for one, do not care, as I said 
 before, to witness if I can help. 
 
 There are curious creatures come up the river now 
 and again, and a vast sturgeon got lost there not so 
 long ago. He was found and caught after some weeks 
 and a vast struggle : he was photographed, modelled, 
 and, I fancy, duly sent to the King, but I do not know 
 if he were eaten. Sturgeon is not a nice fish, neither 
 to my mind is jack, or pike, as the fish is indifferently 
 called. There used to be crowds of jack in the river, 
 and baked jack was one of the Hamworth dishes I 
 particularly loathed. 
 
 The fish had to be caught all the winter, for they 
 are fearful enemies to the salmon, and after all the 
 salmon is king, and the best fish that swims, in my 
 opinion, bar none. 
 
 I can hear the voices of the children and the deeper 
 tones of the men in the salmon boats, and I know the 
 fishing is over and that the tide has turned and the 
 last pool has been dragged. The wide, dirty grey 
 boat goes down with the tide to the lowest pool and 
 waits there until the tide is motionless for a few 
 minutes before it turns and begins to run rapijily up 
 again. Then blue-jerseyed fishermen generally stick 
 a little piece of wood in the mud and watch it until 
 the tiny stores of loose weed cease to rush past it
 
 JUNE-ROSES, ROSES ALL THE WAY 173 
 
 and just begin to waver, uncertain if they must go on 
 or return. Then the word is given, one man jumps 
 on shore, one sits in the stern of the boat to pay out 
 the net, the end of which is held by his mate on the 
 bank, while a small boy rows rapidly round the hole, 
 which is now enclosed by the net. Then the man 
 leaves the boat and helps his mate to close in the net 
 very slowly and cautiously. There are a few moments 
 of breathless excitement, then the net rolls rapidly in : 
 in the old days our catch would not unseldom be an 
 immense tree stump or some one's long-lost kettle, but 
 now I believe they are always rewarded by the terrible 
 splash and struggles of the unfortunate fish. Then 
 the net is drawn up with care on to the shore, and 
 the salmon is dispatched by a blow on the head from 
 a murderous-looking weapon carried in readiness in 
 the wide-topped long boots worn by the fishermen. 
 As soon as one pool is dragged they are off quickly 
 up to the next, and go on up the river until they reach 
 the last, just above the tiny island, where three 
 " lakes," deep with yellow and white water-lilies and 
 their vivid broad leaves, empty themselves into the 
 river, then the fishing is over and the boat comes back 
 to the island, where the men hang out the nets to dry. 
 For they will go out again as soon as the tide serves, 
 for unless they do go, the fish may escape altogether 
 and become the prey of some of the fishermen out 
 below the pools in, the wide, grey harbour, before the 
 sandbanks.
 
 174 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 Now I know the slaying is over, I go down to meet 
 the boats, and Lucius begs me to be valiant and go 
 for a little way up towards Holme bridge. The 
 children must be landed and sent in, as the mists are 
 rising, but they want to see the nets again, and weakly 
 we consent to half-an-hour's grace and we go as far 
 as we can. 
 
 But presently the grey rushes and clinging brown 
 water-weeds stay our progress and compel a halt. 
 
 Now truly is the best time for observation : it is 
 about an hour before the sun sets, and if we are quiet 
 we shall soon be rewarded. It is high tide now and 
 the river is full of water and the weeds are scarcely 
 perceptible, the birds seem to fill the reedy border of 
 the stream and sing their best, especially the sedge 
 warbler, who likes to hear voices : then he begins to 
 sing at once, and continues until he thinks his dis- 
 turbers are gone. Then a careful observer will see 
 the soft grey little fellow run up a reed in the manner 
 a woodpecker runs up the trunk of a tree ; he is making 
 off to his wonderful nest of reeds and rushes far up 
 in the swampy dense silence of the reed bed, whence 
 it is almost impossible to follow him at all. 
 
 Later on the sedge warblers will get together among 
 the reeds, and when a boat passes they will all fly 
 out in a little cloud, then back they go and begin to 
 sing lustily until they find their disturbers are out of 
 sight. I do not care for the bunting lark, who stands 
 on a wide strip and makes conversation with another
 
 JUNE ROSES, ROSES ALL THE WAY 175 
 
 one a little way off. I suppose he thinks he is singing, 
 but he really does nothing of the kind. He utters a 
 sharp, distinct note and waits for a reply. He makes 
 us think he is asking and answering questions, but as 
 we cannot understand we take no more notice of him. 
 Is every river, I wonder, as full of interest as 
 the one that runs by Hamworth, where corncrakes, 
 reed warblers and nightjars croak and scold at dusk, 
 and where, when the tide is low enough, we can see the 
 small mud-holes where the eels live, and where we can 
 hear the eels themselves in the mud, sucking in air 
 with a sharp, short sound like the sudden meeting of 
 two lips? 
 
 The larger holes just above high-water mark belong 
 to the water-rats, and often at the turn of the tide 
 we can see them busily eating the roots and seeds of 
 water plants as they sit out boldly on the rather smelly 
 mud. Sometimes they brush their whiskers and clean 
 their faces with their paws in the same way a cat does, 
 and sometimes they sit quite quietly looking out on 
 the river as if they were admiring the views. But at 
 the least sound they are off, either into their holes or 
 swimming rapidly across the river to reach the other 
 side. They know they can hide safely in the long 
 grass there before going inland to the barley fields, 
 where the corn is coming into ear and is waving gently 
 to and fro in the soft evening wind. 
 
 I always grieve when the time comes to cut the hay, 
 and though I love the distant droning sounds of the
 
 176 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 whirring machine, countless birds are disturbed and 
 many nests destroyed. Even the lark surfers, for she 
 puts her nest in any hidden furrow she finds, and often 
 nests and all perish. The wild duck and water-fowl 
 are old enough to take care of themselves, and though 
 they wheel about in " troops " of sixes and sevens, first 
 flying off towards the hills and then making as if they 
 were off to the sea, they finally return to the river in 
 a series of circles, until they settle for the night among 
 the barley, doubtless anxious to see if it be yet ripe 
 enough to feed upon. Then when the machine is still, 
 for the day's work is done, they come back to the 
 rushes in the " lakes," from whence they fly at early 
 dawn to the harbour to feed on the marsh plants, with 
 the herons and crows and gulls that were always to be 
 found there. 
 
 Since our time folk have taken to breed wild-fowl 
 more as tame ducks than anything else, and very good 
 indeed they are to eat, but all the same, were I a sports- 
 man, I should disdain such pot-hunting work. How 
 well I recollect the old days, when nights in the har- 
 bour and at Littlesea were adventures, and when 
 " flight " was delightful, but June is too early for this 
 sport, and so I do not say all that I could on the 
 subject just now. I am content to watch the last glow 
 of the sunset, and note the cormorants going straight 
 up the river and then turning to their home beyond the 
 hills in the cliffs. Soon a red flush glows all over 
 the hills, and I note the hateful bats looking about
 
 JUNE-ROSES, ROSES ALL THE WAY 177 
 
 after the booming cockchafers, which only just escape 
 their foe : and then for a moment every reed-sparrow 
 and sedge warbler wakes up and has something to 
 say. Then the flush fades to gold, and a soft green 
 light creeps over everything. They say a green light 
 means a storm. I trust not now, when the hay is not 
 carried and June is at her best. 
 
 Claudia is anxious about the mists, which rise 
 rapidly about the river, and she nods to Lucius, and 
 the boat is softly urged to the landing-place. Oh ! 
 how stiff I am, to be sure, and 'tis only the other day, 
 I vow, I could take the boat to the sea and back my- 
 self and be no more tired than if I had lazed in the 
 garden the whole live-long day ! It is now one feels 
 that there is something existing in us that is separate 
 and apart from the body, but what it is who shall tell 
 us even now? But Claudia says not even that is proof, 
 for she notes how very old people forget, and lose their 
 sight and hearing and mind ; even their mind wears out, 
 and I cannot gainsay her, try as I would. 
 
 I like to watch Lucius put away the boat and cover 
 it in, and place the sculls in their rack, unship the 
 rudder, and finally gather all the cushions together and 
 bring them up to the house. In his flannels, he looks 
 like one of Du Maurier's " young Greek gods," but his 
 head is not as empty as theirs were, and with much 
 diffidence he draws out a paper from the pocket of 
 the jacket lying on his arm and hands it to me. Oh ! 
 he has been exploiting my wood and making " copy " 
 
 M
 
 178 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 out of it all, and at first I feel aggrieved. It is my 
 wood, and as such should be sacred : but no one can 
 trace its whereabouts, I find, and so Claudia and I 
 read his article and begin to feel proud of it and of 
 him, after all. 
 
 "Not bored yet?" I asked Lucius, looking him 
 straight in the face. 
 
 " No, indeed," he replied, " and I think I have found 
 my metier. I love the quiet of the place, where no 
 one comes, and who knows that I may not some day 
 be a writer, than which is no happier occupation in 
 the world." 
 
 "If you are content with little, it is," I replied; 
 "but recollect these are the days when every one 
 writes and no one reads, when all the world talks and 
 no one listens, it's not much use writing unless one 
 has readers, is it? " and I looked at him again. 
 
 " I cannot say," he answered gaily, " I feel I do 
 not care about a crowd, and I have some readers that 
 are enough at present, at any rate. I have sufficient 
 to live on, thanks to your bounty, and I know no 
 greater pleasure in the world than to sit down and write 
 out one's thoughts in the peace of the wood, a pipe 
 between one's lips, and Kent and Crusoe sleeping in 
 the doorway or by the fire in the winter-time. One 
 lives a double life in the country, if one is always 
 on the look-out for subjects on which to write and 
 really puts down all one sees. Some day some one 
 may be glad to hear of all that is swiftly perishing in
 
 JUNE-ROSES, ROSES ALL THE WAY 179 
 
 England. Why, even your water meadows are not 
 what they were, those by the roads are spoiled by 
 petrol and motor dust, the wild-fowl are being brought 
 up in pens and not out in the open, the pheasants and 
 partridges are as tame as hens. No, the wild life is 
 going, let us preserve every moment of it as long as 
 we can." 
 
 ' There will always be sanctuaries," said Claudia 
 brightly, " and the wood and the garden here, and my 
 garden, too, shall be unmolested." 
 
 ' That you cannot say," I remarked sadly, " already 
 I hear rumours of building close to the wood, and 
 where other people come be sure my birds will suffer : 
 then your garden is not as safe as mine, Claudia. 
 McCrae has his own ideas on the subject of birds, and 
 I have known him catch thrushes in the strawberry 
 nets, and when he does they do not go scatheless 
 away." 
 
 " I know I know," said Claudia sadly, " but Mrs. 
 McCrae wants jam and McCrae will have his own 
 way." 
 
 " We can make our stand," replied I, " and that is 
 all : ' toute lasse, toute passe, toute casse.' We must 
 do our little best and leave the rest : in that case 
 Lucius' papers will help us, and others may open their 
 eyes and see what the country-side really meant once." 
 
 " Never again," said Lucius firmly, " will the country 
 be as it was, the wild roses and honeysuckle and those 
 beautiful, low-growing roses on the bank by the wood
 
 180 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 are smothered by the motor-traffic : who sees anything 
 rushing by in these juggernauts? It is haste, haste, 
 haste, let us get somewhere and then get away, now-a- 
 days, and I for one cannot think what the poor old 
 world will become." 
 
 Claudia and I laughed out loud. It was only that 
 very day we had read letters written a hundred years 
 ago : dear me ! they might have been written that same 
 morning. Mr. Hickman, Charles Lamb's friend, 
 said the exact things Lucius did, and as for the doings 
 of the Government well ! We are all agreed on the 
 parlous conditions of England now-a-days, of course, 
 but Mr. Hickman went even farther. England's sun 
 had set, England had gone to the dogs and all was 
 vile, and that at least one hundred solid years ago. 
 Under these circumstances we felt we might take heart 
 of grace, enjoy what we still possessed, trust we might 
 soon have an election and an opportunity of seeing 
 that there was life in the old dog yet. 
 
 Poor John Bull ! One has only to read old letters 
 and old diaries to see he was always on the brink of 
 dissolution, so I do not expect his death yet awhile, 
 though Claudia rather sides with Lucius, and he is 
 more pessimistic at the moment than I would ever 
 have believed it possible for him to be !
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 JULY A HOT SUMMER 
 
 IT is some years since I had a visit from Mrs. 
 Dewdney Paul, but one very hot afternoon in early 
 July I saw the good lady at the front door as I sat 
 in the garden. 
 
 I had long ago given up the idea of " callers," and 
 was not on my guard as I used to be, so she was shown 
 on the lawn before I could say boldly that I was out. 
 
 Fortunately I was alone; the children had 
 clamoured for a long, long day at the sea, and as I 
 honestly hate meals out of doors, and uncomfortable 
 sandy seats amongst bakingly hot rocks, I had my 
 garden to myself, and for once was not sorry for the 
 peace and utter silence of the beloved place. 
 
 Now here was the champion gossip of the town and 
 I groaned aloud, for well I knew what I was in for. 
 Besides, I was dreaming of my dear dead friends, and 
 when I dream I cannot but believe they themselves 
 are close by me, and the solid figure and loud voice of 
 the doctor's wife sent dreams and ghosts away the 
 instant she opened her mouth. I owned, when asked, 
 that I was surprised to see her, for at least ten years 
 must have passed since we exchanged calls, and when 
 
 I was left alone I had said I would never call again, 
 
 181
 
 182 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 and never had I done so. I could not say I was 
 pleased, because I was not, I knew mischief was agate, 
 and that gossip had sent her on her most unwelcome 
 quest for news. 
 
 Ah ! it was as I thought, all Hamworth Was talking, 
 and indeed why should it not? It had not much else 
 to do on these hot days, though now there were so 
 many folk that did not know each other by sight, even 
 I doubted if " all Hamworth " meant more than Mrs. 
 Paul herself, her faithful friend the widow of the late 
 curate, who lived opposite her and was a thorn in 
 every one else's side, and the old Colonel who had 
 settled down in Hamworth some twenty years ago, 
 though why he had done so, not even Hamworth itself 
 had been able to find out. 
 
 It was one of the hottest days of that hot summer, 
 a record summer, when the humming-bird moths had 
 crowded about my fuchsias and verbenas, and the 
 children would not believe that the beautiful little 
 darting creatures were not real humming-birds them- 
 selves. I do not know whence they came or whither 
 they went, but in a long life I have only seen them 
 twice, and on both occasions the heat was great and 
 the summer what the country people always called a 
 record one. 
 
 I endeavoured to turn Mrs. Paul's conversation on 
 to the lines of the abnormal weather, and pointed out 
 to her the beautiful hovering little creatures as they 
 suddenly darted their long tongues into the heart of
 
 JULY A HOT SUMMER 183 
 
 a flower and then passed on to the next. She 
 sniffed at the word tongue, of course; Dr. Paul ha'd 
 not the reputation of being a scientist for nothing, and 
 I could not resist suggesting that to me gossips were 
 much as the dear moths were. They put their tongues 
 into the hearts of innocent creatures, took out all they 
 could and then made off to the next one, intent on 
 taking away all they possibly might steal of whatever 
 was nearest and dearest to their victim's souls. But 
 Mrs. Paul was not to be daunted by me ; always rather 
 red and stout, she seeme'd to become red-brick and 
 absolutely bursting out of her raiment on that radiant 
 July day. She had walked at least half-a-mile to see 
 me, and had no doubt seen the merry party start but 
 at early morning and knew I was alone, and she 
 had not the least intention of being baulked of her 
 errand. 
 
 Iced lemonade did not soften her in the least : she 
 pronounced iced drinks madness on such a day, and 
 did not wonder that I looked as "white as a sheet," 
 which must have been a pleasant contrast to her own 
 countenance if I did. Though as I never touched 
 lemonade I failed to see the line of her argument at 
 all. I offered tea, but it was not the orthodox hour 
 for that meal, and in despair I suggested a look at the 
 new trees in the walled garden and their magnificent 
 promise of fruit, but nothing moved the good lady. 
 Therefore I gave in as of old, and allowed her to say 
 her say and pour forth her many historiettes of " she
 
 184 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 says" and "we think" and "he knows," until I had 
 the whole pleasant stream of gossip around me. 
 
 " Did you never suffer from foolish lies ? " I said 
 meditatively, as I looked my informant straight in the 
 face. " It seems to me, Mrs. Paul, that I recollect in 
 the days of our youth that I heard many and strange 
 rumours of you and yours. Dr. Paul, they said, was 
 not always a home-bird. I wonder if you recollect 
 Dora in the act of eloping with the barman of the 
 Blue Boar; no, don't trouble to fluster and bluster 
 and rise and go without thrashing the matter out," 
 I added, as she struggled to emerge from out the low 
 basket chair which she filled to overflowing and could 
 not get out of without some strenuous help. " Well, 
 Dora is a happy wife and mother now, and we know 
 she was only a silly child of seventeen in those 'days, 
 and she believed the man had ' a pedigree as long 
 as his arm,' and moreover was desperately in love with 
 him. Her home wasn't quite happy, was it? " 
 
 Mrs. Paul looked up. " I don't know why you are 
 dragging up all those stories," she mumbled, " I did 
 my best." 
 
 "Did you truly?" I said, putting my hand on her 
 fingers in their tight slate-coloured, well-filled glove. 
 " Do you recollect how you poisoned Dr. Paul's dogs 
 because they brought in mud, how you denied him 
 the use of his microscope because he sometimes spilled 
 the oil from the lamp, or else brought in dirty weeds 
 from the ditches to search for the creatures whose
 
 JULY A HOT SUMMER 185 
 
 little lives he wanted to investigate? True, he did 
 not stay at home, but do you know where he went? 
 Why, microscope and all departed to the curate's 
 lodgings. Your dear friend Mrs. Lawrence, if she 
 would, could have told you where he spent his even- 
 ings instead of that " 
 
 " I do not believe one word you say," Mrs. Paul 
 blurted out ; " why, Trixie used to run in and condole 
 with me and tell me " 
 
 " Oh, I know all that," I said quietly, " and I only 
 recall things best forgotten altogether and buried 
 decently to show you how futile and wicked gossip 
 all too often is. I have not the least doubt you came 
 here primed with all that your friends told you goes on 
 in this house. Well, listen to me and for ever after 
 hold your peace or I too may begin to recollect." 
 
 "Recollect what?" she almost shouted; "no one 
 can say anything truly against me, of that I am quite 
 certain." 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Paul," I replied, still more quietly, " I 
 do not want to drag skeletons out of their graves 
 but people did not always believe in your neuralgic 
 attacks in bygone days, and they were unkind enough 
 to suggest that when tea was put down in your grocer's 
 book it sometimes stood for something else. You 
 recollect I once found you in a saH state myself I 
 was quite content to believe in the neuralgic idea, and 
 I admired more than I can say the splendid fight you 
 made and the victory you won. Now Dora is a very
 
 186 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 happy woman, and you and Dr. Paul are a model 
 couple, can't you Believe good of others as you have 
 found there is so much in yourselves ? " 
 
 Mrs. Paul looked down and said nothing, then she 
 muttered, " But there is evil here and you ought to 
 know. Colonel Sellars knew Lucius, and he says he 
 is not a man you ought to have in your house, and I 
 am sure if you could credit half what is talked of you 
 would soon return to your old quiet ways." 
 
 I laughed aloud. " My old quiet ways ! Why, 
 Mrs. Paul, since I have been alone I have nearly died 
 of the quiet. I only began to live once more when 
 these dear friends came into my life. Do you suppose 
 I have known Hamworth for over fifty years and do 
 not know quite well all that is being said ? " 
 
 Mrs. Paul murmured a few indistinct words and 
 still looked down. 
 
 " Now listen carefully," I went on, " and then gossip 
 among yourselves as much as you please. You used 
 to like my garden in the old days, you loved East End 
 Cottage, and before we were shut out from it by the 
 stern old lady we buried a year or two ago, you used 
 to love my wood. Now you are never able to share 
 these pleasures any more, and do you know why? 
 No, I don't hate you," I continued, as she blurted out 
 some words to that effect, " I am too old to hate any 
 one, or indeed to love any one very much ; but I will 
 not see you or the other Hamworth folk for one very 
 good reason. If you never see me, you cannot say I
 
 JULY A HOT SUMMER 187 
 
 have told you all sorts and kinds of things I never 
 have. I do not intend to explain Beata, Claudia, 
 Lucius, or even the children to you; we live in an 
 enclosed garden of our own and there is no room for 
 a serpent in our Paradise. You could one and all 
 have shared it at one time, but not now." 
 
 " I am sure we don't want to share anything," inter- 
 rupted Mrs. Paul angrily. " I have known you all my 
 life, and I only came as a friend. You ought to know 
 all that is being said, and if you won't listen you must 
 take the consequences." 
 
 I laughed out loud. " Now what can those be, I 
 wonder? The only thing that can happen is for 
 Claudia and Lucius to marry, and I see no reason 
 why they should not, save the all-sufficient one that 
 neither thinks of such a thing at all : he certainly 
 won't contaminate my morals. I don't know Colonel 
 Sellars, not even the name of the regiment of which he 
 says he was Colonel, but in these days every one is 
 either a Colonel or a Major, so that does not matter 
 at all ; but I do know Lucius. I knew him as a school- 
 boy and Beata as a school-girl, and as for Claudia she 
 is a gem. Now," added I, laughing again, " I will tell 
 you one precious deadly secret, which you must keep 
 solemnly to yourself. Claudia's grandfather was " 
 and I whispered the Duke's name into Mrs. Paul's 
 ear, and she really almost collapsed chair and all at 
 my feet. 
 
 When she had recovered her composure I went on :
 
 188 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 " Not such a grand-daughter, by the way, as we know 
 round about here, for I dare say her name is in 
 Debrett, at any rate if it is not it is because no one 
 save her one relation alive knows of her existence, 
 for, as you know, the title is extinct, and only the 
 property and money are still about." 
 
 Mrs. Paul bridled considerably. I knew quite well 
 she had not the least idea of the history of that special 
 ducal house, but I felt equally certain that she would 
 take an early opportunity of looking it out in the 
 ancient peerage in the Hamworth reading-room; and 
 then all too late I thought of Mr. Julius Beevor. Of 
 course she would tell him; the country would be let 
 loose on Claudia's cottage; what on earth should I 
 do ? At last I said, " Recollect you gave me a solemn 
 promise to keep our one deadly secret, Mrs. Paul. If 
 I find the Beevors and others calling at East End 
 Cottage I shall know what that means, and I fear if 
 I do I shall be mean enough to relate I know secrets 
 too, and have kept secret many years ; so if mine gets 
 out, I shall recollect " 
 
 Mrs. Paul held up her hand. " I promise, promise ; 
 but you must remember that in a small town such as 
 this, all sorts of things get out and no one knows how." 
 
 " I can only repeat what I said," I replied ; " if there 
 be one leak all will come out. Now tell me of other 
 things. Does Dr. Paul still possess the pansies with 
 the white cross on them in the surgery garden, and 
 does he still grow the biggest auriculas in the town?
 
 JULY-A HOT SUMMER 189 
 
 How I wish we could all live in peace and quiet and 
 have again some of the old flower shows, but not even 
 in these days of civilization can this be, any more than 
 nations can settle their quarrels without war, and I 
 find the only way to be peaceable is to be quite alone 
 or with my chosen friends in Paradise." 
 
 " You used to love a fight too," grumbled Mrs. Paul, 
 fanning herself with her handkerchief. " You cannot 
 have forgotten our elections, or how you struggled to 
 get the churchyard closed and the new burial-ground 
 opened, or how you wanted a dozen things that even 
 now are not done ? I wonder what you think now of 
 the Board Schools, or I should say the Council 
 Schools. You were all for progress and pulling down 
 in those days ; now it seems to me you are as much in 
 the other direction." 
 
 " I never cared for gossip even then," I said care- 
 lessly, " and I never for one instant believed all the 
 hundred and one things people used to delight in 
 saying about each other. I did fight about many 
 things I might have left alone quite well, and I am 
 inclined to go with you about the Council Schools. 
 All the same, things are very, very much better than 
 they were forty-five years ago. Do you recollect our 
 lane and the awful cottages? Oh, do you remember 
 how the children went out early to earn a few pence 
 when they ought to have been at school? I know 
 the education they get now-a-days is not all it should 
 be, but it is better, far, far better than none. The
 
 190 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 fact is, we who have not to work, do not like to see 
 what is going on, any more than I like your gossip." 
 
 "What is going on?" asked Mrs. Paul half- 
 heartedly, but looking more resigned as the clock 
 boomed out five, and she knew tea and perhaps even 
 iced coffee would soon be on the way. 
 
 ;< The gradual emancipation of the serfs," said I, 
 pointing to my dear old maid, who came out with the 
 tea-tray and her attendant imp, who, if I believed all 
 I heard, would have qualified long ago for a situation 
 in the bottomless pit. " I could comfortably return 
 to the days when the maids were content with their 
 pound of sugar and quarter of a pound of tea between 
 two, their bed for two, and their neat sprigged prints 
 and their caps tied under their chins, and their tidy 
 bonnets on Sunday spent for the most part in the 
 servants' pews, and I dare say the next generation will 
 look in vain for folk to do their hard or unpleasant 
 work. All the same I believe in advance, in the men 
 and maids of the lower classes having time to breathe 
 and live. Though I honestly deplore the fact that 
 Government is the nursing mother of the nation far 
 too much to raise a satisfactory race. Yet I recollect 
 the hard times of old, and am glad there are forty 
 boats on the river instead of three or four, and dozens 
 of bicycles all about the roads." 
 
 '' Yet all is being ruined," groaned Mrs. Paul ; 
 "dear Mr. Beevor wishes he could close that lovely 
 lane of his, but he cannot, and I have no doubt you
 
 JULY-A HOT SUMMER 191 
 
 will find your wood ruined one spring. Nowhere else 
 do the daffodils grow as they grow there ; are you going 
 to keep them all to yourself, I wonder? " 
 
 " No, indeed, I only keep out those who root up 
 the flowers," I replied, " and, moreover, I am likewise 
 freeing every single thing. My wood is a sanctuary 
 for birds and beasts and flowers : and this garden is 
 a sanctuary too none shall come here unless they 
 have pleasant tales to tell and pleasant voices, and I 
 will not hear even the echoes of the chatter from the 
 market-place. .We have books and papers, a thousand 
 interests, and believe me, Mrs. Paul, Hamworth is a 
 dead city for me, for all I knew and loved are dead. 
 Yes, all I liked in my foolish youth are dead or gone 
 away. I live here with my ghosts and my dear young 
 friends. Without them before they came, I was a 
 ghost too. I don't believe you ever even gave me a 
 thought, except when you hoped to hear I had sent for 
 Dr. Paul for one of those horrid attacks you once said 
 showed that I was quite insane." 
 
 " If you did not want to be talked about, be like 
 other people, was what I said you ought to be," said 
 Mrs. Paul firmly. " I never said you were mad." 
 
 " Indeed I do not care in the least if you did," I 
 replied calmly; "what other people say never has 
 troubled me nor ever will, of that I am quite sure, and 
 now I want you to leave gossip alone. It never did 
 any good and never will. I wish Dr. Paul would 
 come and see my roses and tell me what to do this dry
 
 192 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 and dreadful summer. I must own this great heat gets 
 on my nerves above a bit, and I am astonished to 
 see the children are so fresh and sweet and merry all 
 the time, but no doubt their sleep in the open air 
 accounts for that. How well I recollect the torture of 
 a hot London bedroom ! Far too well to subject these 
 mites to it when they can sleep out in tents with dark- 
 ened walls that prevent their rising with the birds, as 
 they otherwise would." 
 
 " Sleep out ! " gasped Mrs. Paul. 
 
 "Oh yes," I said calmly, "we all do; though I 
 must own I cling to my balcony and do not descend 
 to the tents. Do you mean to say Hamworth hasn't 
 yet heard of our latest madness ? Then indeed shall 
 I believe gossip is beginning to die." 
 
 But Mrs. Paul could only murmur, " Sleep out ! " 
 as if that were the last straw, and as she had consumed 
 a large tea, the maids hauled her out of her chair and 
 she began to make her adieux. But before she went 
 I took her up to the encampment and made her open 
 her eyes wider than ever. 
 
 Beyond the arbutus-trees and the oldest apple-trees 
 I have a wide flagged walk. In the old days the boys 
 called it the quarter-deck, for their father and I used 
 to pace there by the hour together, and now-a-days I 
 can scarcely bear to walk there at all. So we have 
 erected black-lined tents for the children, and Beata 
 and the nurses, though these were hard to persuade at 
 first, but the dogs sleep there too, and they are well
 
 JULY A HOT SUMMER 193 
 
 guarded, though what from not one of us could say 
 were we questioned on the subject. 
 
 I love to see Peter in his little bed, with his red head 
 on the white pillow and his artist's hands holding his 
 pencil even in his sleep. He was a villain simply 
 until we put him in his tent with his Nana and his 
 guardian angel, his dog " Spirit o' fun," called Spirit 
 or Fun for short, just as Peter thinks best at the 
 moment, and when I recollected how sweet he looked 
 I almost begged Mrs. Paul to come up and see, but 
 I refrained. This would mean an exhibition of Beata, 
 and maybe Claudia and even Lucius, and then I knew 
 there would be the letting out of the flood, and no 
 mistake. Indeed I was only just in time, as it was, 
 for the town clock had struck six before Mrs. Paul 
 had departed, and I heard the hoot of Claudia's motor 
 across the Causeway before the old gossip could have 
 reached the bottom of the lane. 
 
 I wonder what she thought of the merry, dirty party 
 as they came along, the motor decked in heather, and 
 each child waving long trails of damp and sticky sea- 
 weed, while Lucius drove and Beata and Claudia 
 grasped a child in one hand and a great basket in 
 the other, full to the brim of damp bathing dresses, 
 towels, cups, debris from luncheon and tea, and a 
 hundred and one oddments of shells and things that 
 would furnish occupation for many and many a day. 
 
 " Mixed bathing, oh, horrible ! " I could fancy 
 Mrs. Paul's idea of what that could be : she would 
 
 N
 
 194 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 see no beauty in Lucius's fine form in his French 
 bathing dress, while he swam out to sea with Peter on 
 his back, and Philip, Molly, Claudia and Beata around 
 him resembling dolphins round a ship. 
 
 The dear, delightful, sandy bay was safe for miles ; 
 Claudia had her own bath-houses with hot water ready 
 and all sorts and kinds of luxuries, and I sighed to 
 think what I had lost by not being young too in these 
 present days. In the olden time the sea was two hours 
 off, now it was a slow forty minutes by the motor : if 
 the road were clear it was I will not say how much 
 less, and I never thought of building a wooden hut on 
 the shore. One has missed much, much, but I am 
 glad to see others have it all, even if I can never share 
 it myself in any shape or kind. 
 
 When the tents were all occupied and we had 
 finished our dinner on the terrace we began to talk, 
 as was our wont. We would not have lamps out, for 
 that meant moths and even bats flying near to in- 
 vestigate matters far more closely than we liked. For 
 dinner I had an electric lamp from the house, the 
 moths could not scorch much on that, but, as soon 
 as all was cleared, out went the light and we sat in 
 the half-shadows that are my delight. 
 
 How seldom do we have weather such as this in 
 England, and how seldom, too, do we use or appre- 
 ciate a few really hot days when we have them. We 
 hesitate, it can't last, we say, and we go on on the 
 old round, but somehow I never will. The moment 
 
 9 
 
 '
 
 JULY-A HOT SUMMER 195 
 
 the sun is hot I live out in the air and the garden, 
 and such a summer as that one must be used to the 
 utmost, and I think of houses I know where at nine 
 p.m. the gas is lighted, the Venetian blinds let 'down 
 and the windows closed, no matter what the atmo- 
 sphere is like outside those terribly well-managed 
 walls. 
 
 After all I can only recollect about three or four 
 very hot summers. I mean summers that went on 
 and on, and day after day arose clad in shining brass, 
 when the sky was pitiless, and one looked for "the 
 cloud the size of a man's hand," and recollected the 
 old Bible story and thought how true it all was, to be 
 sure. But never do I recollect such a summer as this 
 special one. 
 
 June had been hot, but July was a furnace even in 
 our wind-swept, tree-shaded, rose-embowered garden. 
 That is to say at mid-day, but then we got out the 
 boats and rowed up the river and remained there until 
 the long hot day began to decline among the reeds 
 and rushes, and almost weeping now and again over 
 the closely shorn fields. Still we had forget-me-nots 
 to gather in profusion, and we could see the lovely 
 little hanging nests of the reed-warbler; the birds were 
 hatched out and gone, but the nest was there and we 
 longed to take it, but somehow never could get near 
 enough to do so, try how we would. The swallows 
 and swifts were always about the river now, but the 
 martins had gone farther away, and the cuckoo's note 
 
 k A
 
 196 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 had changed. He is supposed to change it in June, 
 but rarely does so until later, and this July he was 
 almost inclined to remain, but at night we had only 
 the owls and bats, and the bats I frankly loathed. 
 
 Lucius had once or twice thrown up stones, and the 
 wretched creatures darted down to them, thinking they 
 were cockchafers, but I stopped him quickly. Who 
 knew they might not become entangled in our hair 
 or, worse still, fix their horrid, hooked wings in our 
 eyes ? I firmly believed they would if they could, for 
 had not an old housemaid told me this in my youth, 
 and furthermore declared that once there, nothing 
 dislodged them? They flapped and flapped and 
 flapped until their victim went mad and died, and I, 
 for one, have never forgotten the dreadful legend of 
 the past. 
 
 Claudia and Beata were tired after their long day, 
 and at first our conversation was simply the scattered 
 converse of old and dear friends. But I felt impelled 
 to speak of other summers I had known. Of one at 
 an old rectory close to the Thames, and of our adven- 
 tures on the river before steam launches were, and 
 when we could, quite well, be out alone all hours of 
 the day and night. How one night came back to me 
 as I spoke, and I remembered the scent of the great 
 bushes of lemon verbena in the rectory garden, and 
 the dense gloom of the hot summer night. It was 
 almost dark, quite, quite still, and then some one said, 
 " The river ! " and we trooped off, this time with proper
 
 JULY A HOT SUMMER 197 
 
 male escort, but all too happy to speak. Then we 
 were afloat. Some one in a distant, brightly-lighted 
 house sang exquisitely, a nightingale replied, and then 
 a great moon rose yellow, round and triumphant over 
 the dense bank of trees behind the river, which lapped 
 softly against our boat, and we none of us said one 
 word. There are but two of us alive, two rest in alien 
 graves, unmarked and unknown, and she and I, once 
 the nearest and dearest of friends, meet but once in a 
 dozen years. Riches separate more than miles some- 
 times, and great riches are hers, so maybe she has 
 brighter, happier folk than I am now-a-days with 
 whom to exchange ideas that were once ours in 
 common. 
 
 It is better to recollect the days that were and that 
 are mine still, for no one can ever take them from me 
 now. The long mornings in the boat while she 
 painted and I read her my " efforts of genius," at 
 which she never, never scoffed, and often enough 
 praised discriminately ; the long slow drives in the 
 great carriage with the dear old mother to whom I 
 gave a girl's heart-felt devotion, and then those quiet 
 evenings and nights. The scented, dew-drenched 
 garden with its mossed paths leading to the little Pang 
 which ultimately fell and died on the Thames' broad 
 breach. And then I tell the others how we fixed candle- 
 ends into egg-shells and sent them floating down. 
 Emulating the lights set afloat on the Ganges, they 
 were to tell us our fortunes. If they sailed gaily along
 
 198 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 out of sight, well and good, but I somehow always 
 ran aground and went out prematurely while Rosetta's 
 lamp burned steadily and aflame until we saw it no 
 more. Yet even now I would not change with her 
 fortunes, and I laughed as I recollected a pastoral 
 visit our lights brought. 
 
 The villagers had been alarmed by the vagrom 
 things, they saw ghost lights on the river, dreadful 
 things were agate, fever hung about the marshes- 
 would we mind discontinuing our pastime, for nothing 
 would induce them to believe the lights came from the 
 tiny stream that ran athwart our garden? 
 
 The summer heat and bad drainage, or rather the 
 lack of drainage, caused the fever, we knew, but we 
 stayed our hands, and the egg-shell boats were stopped 
 at once. I heard of their dire portent one day when I 
 was caught in a shower and begged shelter in a tiny 
 cottage standing in a garden filled with stocks, 
 mignonette, sweet peas and heavy-headed paeonies. 
 The old wife told me she had seen two lights creep 
 out on the river itself and looked out for death. " Not 
 that she'd have minded : both lights went out to- 
 gether, and that meant she and her old man would go 
 at once the same way. Poor old soul ! She had but 
 one leg, and she gave me the most dramatic account 
 of having the other off before the days of chloroform ; 
 but how it all ended I know not, the first sound of 
 the saw sent me down on the flagged stones of the 
 cottage. I never could stand horrors, and Rosetta
 
 JULY A HOT SUMMER 199 
 
 had to explain this and soothe the ancient dame. 
 That dreadful event was her one proud possession 
 that others could not bear it was surprising indeed, 
 and even then I was, as I am every day now, thankful 
 I was not born before I was, and indeed I sometimes 
 wish my time had been dated another fifty or sixty 
 years later on than it was ! 
 
 How well I recollect the gradual drying up of the 
 lawns, the sinking of our little stream until all sorts 
 of secrets were laid bare, the flowers that could not 
 blossom, and the fruit that untimely ripened and fell 
 off before it was fully grown ; and how ponds supposed 
 to be bottomless lay out bare and obvious liars under 
 the pitiless glare, the mud baked and cracked and 
 showing where many a broken pot or glass had been 
 cast, trusting that the bottomless creature would never 
 give up the secret sin ! 
 
 And then the birds and beasts began to die. We 
 put out great wide pans of water everywhere, and 
 were rewarded by the visit of many a strange creature 
 that came to drink and bathe at dawn or late at night. 
 Even the foxes came, but once more the Parson 
 arrived; the fox revived by his drink had called in 
 at the farmer's with dire results. Well, the chicks 
 and ducks could be paid for, but we would not cease 
 the water dole for anything the old cleric could do 
 or say. 
 
 What a curious old person he was, to be sure, and 
 how often I have wished I could see the rectory and
 
 200 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 church once more, to note any alteration that may have 
 been made. In my day the walk to church was 
 through fields and without an atom of shade, and as 
 my hostesses were Jewesses, I had to keep up the 
 honour of the house by attending the church, as it 
 would never do for the rectory pew to be empty. The 
 hottest day of all was that Sunday, and of course I 
 had on a very tight Sunday dress and the usual bonnet 
 that even young girls wore on the Sabbath in those 
 obsolete years. I was late, and crept silently into 
 the nearest seat by the open door. But what did that 
 dreadful old man do? Calling me by my name he 
 stopped the service and pointed out the proper seat. 
 
 Now I should take no notice : then, shamefaced 
 and hotter than ever hotter than I have ever been 
 before or since, I crept " up higher," and sank into 
 the high-backed, curtained pew. It was far from the 
 door, alas ! but I managed to survive, and saw with 
 awe that when sermon time came the good man 
 slipped out of his surplice and handed it to the 
 clerk, putting on his black gown in the reading- 
 desk, adjusting it and his bands in a small looking- 
 glass inside the lid of the great Bible. Such things 
 do not happen now-a-days, and bands are not 
 worn. I wonder why they ever were. The dear 
 Vicar of the wood kept his bands in his sermon case, 
 and his wife made them out of finest linen and washed 
 them herself. Now sermon cases have gone too, and 
 one gets, if ever one does go to church, ten minutes'
 
 JULY A HOT SUMMER 201 
 
 extempore "pi-jaw," or a dissertation on the latest 
 fad, or anything save the long continual doctrinal 
 preachments one used to abhor so in the days of one's 
 undisciplined youth. 
 
 Personally I have a liking for sermons, but they 
 must be good. Nothing I enjoy more than a scholarly 
 discourse from one of the old school, Oxford taught, 
 Oxford fathered and mothered, a gentleman and 
 scholar, but now-a-days one meets them not at all. 
 
 The old man at the riverside church was a mere 
 wind-bag, poor old soul, with a dry-as-dust library 
 in which we burrowed vainly for sustenance on wet 
 days, which were most fortunately few and far be- 
 tween, and I often wondered how he spent his time. 
 The house was big and spoke of ample means, but 
 he had neither chick nor child ; he has been long years 
 dead, and I cannot believe he had as much pleasure 
 out of his place as we one and all of us ever had. 
 His flowers ran to seed, his roses were unpruned, and 
 I only recollect his croquet lawns and the great lemon 
 verbena bushes : he was not a scholar, not a gardener 
 what did he do when the dark days came and the 
 long winter nights fell? I for one never knew and 
 never could make out. 
 
 ' This July summer was similar to the one at Tid- 
 mouth," I said to Claudia, as an apology for my long, 
 stupid silence with only a few words now and then, 
 and I told them of all we had done, and confessed 
 that one day we had stolen out down the river to lunch
 
 202 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 with two artist friends. We are all grandfathers and 
 grandmothers now-a-days, and yet I confess I blush 
 when I recollect that deed of shame : how we lunched 
 en plein air, in itself a hideous crime in the sixties, 
 and afterwards we smoked. " Brayveyda " on my 
 part, as my old maid calls bravado, for I never liked 
 tobacco whether for myself or others, but I recall even 
 now with unholy joy the look on the face of an 
 agitated mother with a couple of daughters, who, land- 
 ing at the garden steps for a decorous lunch indoors, 
 caught sight of our party. Here was vice, if you like, 
 and she rushed back driving her muslined, crinolined 
 girls before her. I knew then what she took us for, 
 which shows one should never judge by appearances, 
 for never were two girls less likely to be what she 
 thought us than were we then, and indeed never have 
 been ever since. 
 
 Still I know I ought not to have done it, and how 
 pleased Mrs. Dewdney Paul would be did she know 
 that I once was taken for her bugbear some one who 
 was "no better than she should be, at all." 
 
 Lucius' pipe kept away some of the numerous 
 stinging beasts which make summer a nuisance to 
 many, and he humorously offered me a cigarette. 
 Claudia and Beata are of the age, and were already 
 smoking, but I declined his kind offer. I put my 
 faith in a liberal anointing of verbena-oil, or even oil 
 of cloves, and camphor in my stockings, and besides 
 that these creatures do not love me as they do many.
 
 JULY-A HOT SUMMER 203 
 
 All the same I felt Lucius took advantage of my old- 
 time sins, and I said I would not confess to him again, 
 let come what would. 
 
 He then begged for egg-shells and candle-ends. 
 Why should not our fortunes be told once more, or 
 at least theirs, if, as I declared, mine was over and 
 done with long ago? And in a trice he made a fleet 
 of the tiny boats. Christmas-tree candles were fixed 
 in the shells by the simple device of melting a little 
 of their own wax and then setting them upright in 
 that. The brilliant coloured candles looked splen- 
 didly bright through the shells, and Lucius sculled 
 quietly up to the island and set the fleet adrift. 
 There were a dozen at least, and they went gallantly 
 along, for the tide was flowing out to the sea, and it 
 was just the right moment for our adventure. It was 
 a pretty, pretty sight, and we watched awhile. Then 
 we heard murmurs from the bridge. 
 
 Now the Hamworth bridge is unlike any other in 
 the wide world, for here the men of the town do 
 congregate, exchange news and gossip and scandal, as 
 only women are supposed to do. 
 
 When I was alone I could hear the gentle murmur 
 of the talk from the bridge, but since Beata had come 
 I have ceased to notice it, but here it was in full swing, 
 and loud calls and cries brought others to the spot. 
 Blessings on the tide which ran so swiftly that all the 
 little lamps were well on the way to the sea before 
 the men thought of boats and investigation. I
 
 204 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 believe no one ever found out what they were. I 
 heard whispers from the maids of fearsome portents, 
 and I laughed as ever. " Good luck to the lights and 
 what they served for," I said, "be sure they meant 
 nothing but good to Hamworth, this long and lovely 
 summer in which all can live and love." 
 
 Claudia came in one day rather disturbed, a 
 gorgeous carriage had been seen at her gate, and Mrs. 
 McCrae, very disapproving, had said " Not at home," 
 and had received a pack of cards and a great square 
 envelope that my Ellen always would call in the old 
 days "An inviter." True, it was an invitation. I 
 knew garden parties were about, and had even 
 received some notes from acquaintances to beg me 
 to break my rule and once more come out into the 
 Hamworth world. But this was a gorgeous matter. 
 Mrs. Paul had been talking, no doubt : still, Claudia 
 was inflexible. We left cards, or rather McCrae left 
 them for Claudia, and a stiff refusal. We hated 
 garden parties, they are an insult to a garden and a 
 bore beyond a bore to those who give and those who 
 go. Those who give are in fits lest the weather should 
 break, lest the ices should melt or refuse to "go 
 round," lest those who loathed each other should find 
 themselves together at tea, and lest the highest rank 
 should be elbowed aside by the lower, while the in- 
 vited folk marvel at the poor show of flowers, of food, 
 or anything that they do not like, and wish them- 
 selves at home in their own quiet garden every minute 
 of the hot and arid afternoon.
 
 JULY A HOT SUMMER 205 
 
 No one in or round Hamworth can afford a band, 
 a good band that mitigates the horror of these dread- 
 ful parties : the girls cannot play tennis because of 
 their frocks, and games for prizes are taboo. The 
 one or two people who could afford it gave such 
 splendid things, others were disquieted and fell off, 
 so the offenders were spoken to ; and no one cares for 
 clock golf, clock croquet or any other ball game in 
 the heat, merely to gain a sixpenny photograph frame. 
 The gardens are, as a rule, too full for real talk, far 
 better to be by ourselves this beautiful summer, so 
 we watch the victims of Society (Society in Ham- 
 worth !) drive or motor along the Causeway, and are 
 uplifted and proud because we are out of the giddy, 
 giddy stream. When the day cools just a little, when 
 the tiny breeze blows up from the meadows, we are 
 off to the wood, children and all, and even Peter goes. 
 He has had a long, cosy sleep in his single linen gar- 
 ment in the tent in the middle of the day, and so he 
 can hold out until we return, and we know Lucius will 
 be expectant and ready. 
 
 We would like to grumble at the dust, but the 
 motor which smothers others does not smother us : 
 we would like to speak evilly of the dried-up heather 
 and the brown grass, we could weep over the dust- 
 laden hedges which are white as snow, and where 
 Philip thinks the blackberries will never come alive, 
 but in the wood we forget it all. 
 
 The foliage has become the dense dark green that 
 means July, and all looks much alike and the birds
 
 206 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 are very quiet; but now the squirrels are so tame they 
 come at a call; they creep up my dress to the table 
 and eat from my hand, and the robins are very daring, 
 too daring for me, but the squirrels keep them off 
 and they are fed by the children, and even Peter gives 
 them a moist and mumbled crumb, holding it firmly 
 and rather timidly as they peck, for he is not quite 
 sure he will not want it himself after all. 
 
 Claudia and Lucius have walked away to see the 
 pheasants and the partridges, and to look at the 
 renovated decoy, and Beata and I gaze after them. 
 Beata sighs and unfolds a thin Indian letter. 
 
 " I don't want this life to end," she says at last, 
 "but I do not know what will happen. He is ill, I 
 hear, and I may have to go out and fetch him home. 
 Oh, suppose, suppose, dear friend, we have to leave 
 Hamworth and the children become the ordinary folk 
 of to-day, shut up in walls and away from all the 
 country sights and sounds." 
 
 " Let us wait until that happens," I reply at once ; 
 "in the meantime do not trouble. If he is ill you 
 must go you can trust Claudia and me ? " and I put 
 my hand under her downcast chin and raised her face 
 to mine. 
 
 ' You, yes ; but cannot you see what is happening 
 to Claudia ? " and Beata points to the wood-path, and 
 I hear overhead the cooing of Lucius' pigeons, which, 
 no matter what is the season, are always making love. 
 
 I refuse to reply. " I am living for the moment
 
 JULY A HOT SUMMER 207 
 
 only," I say at last. " Moments are precious now, 
 Beata. Let them alone, they are young and happy; 
 if they marry, well, if they do not, better still. I 
 share St. Paul's ideas. Those who marry do well, 
 those who do not do better. Let time disclose what 
 it may, we are one glorious year, nay, more, to the 
 good; think of that and refuse all other disturbing 
 ideas." And Beata, folding her letter once more, 
 draws Peter into her arms. 
 
 The sun is setting fast, the wood is dark and silent 
 and very ghostlike, and we are all ready to go : and as 
 we dash along the homeward road a great moon climbs 
 up over the hills and floods the landscape with a river 
 of gold. We were becoming very sentimental, and 
 then Philip says, " The moon is like Humpty 
 Dumpty sitting on the wall," and indeed so it is. So 
 we cease to poetize, and reach home, where bed waits 
 for the babies and dinner for ourselves, while the 
 river sings on its way to the sea, and we unconsciously 
 glide with it towards our end in the river of death 
 that awaits us somewhere, one and all. But we have 
 had a glorious summer, and even in that sea we may 
 remember : and if we do not, well ! maybe the silence 
 thereof will be the best of all.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 AUGUST THE YEAR STAYS STILL 
 
 I DO not like August, and of late years it has become 
 wellnigh intolerable to most folk, look at it how they 
 will. 
 
 Every one is holiday-making in a feverish manner, 
 newspapers are unreadable because the best writers 
 are away, trains are crowded, and the sea is almost 
 black with bathers, while everything is dearer than 
 dear, because the season is short, and of course, hay 
 must be made by tradesfolk as long as the sun shines. 
 
 I know of one or two quiet country places where one 
 can escape August if one must, but even there the 
 influx of " country holiday children " makes them un- 
 desirable for one's own. I am told over and over 
 again of the precautions taken, and I have not the 
 least doubt that all that is possible is done, but I have 
 known scarlet fever taken to the country more than 
 once, and I know, too, that language is learned from 
 the town children that is never forgotten. I am not 
 at all sure either that the determination of country 
 folk to get into big towns is not greatly due to the 
 tales told by these same London children, who are 
 frankly bored by the country and sing songs of rapture 
 
 when the day comes for them to return to the hot and 
 
 208
 
 AUGUST-THE YEAR STAYS STILL 209 
 
 grimy streets. London, too, is quite dreadful in 
 August, for there do caretakers raven in the houses, 
 and should we have children we can take or send them 
 nowhere at all. Soon there must be a Bill passed for 
 the protection of the upper middle classes; for the 
 parks swarm with dirty folk, the streets are roller- 
 skated in, and nowhere can we find peace, or a safe 
 spot for our children to play, if we do not want them 
 to catch awful diseases and things, and hear 
 language that makes one's blood curdle as we hear 
 it in passing down the streets. 
 
 Even in distant, peaceful Hamworth we have the 
 children of the slums, while every meadow and field 
 blossom out with great white umbrellas resembling 
 giant mushrooms, for the artist folk have found us out 
 and are about in troops and swarms. They paint our 
 river, our walks, our common, where the ubiquitous 
 golfer has somehow obtained common rights, and I 
 have even caught them looking for my Castle. But I 
 send them off; the Castle is mine own and Claudia's, 
 and to see it one must wait for the ghost-like mists of 
 autumn, and must possess a belief that no one of the 
 present day is likely for one moment to share. 
 
 The children clamour for the sea, but I know too 
 well what that means to give way. Hot lodgings, 
 scrambled meals, overcrowded sands, dreadful 
 pierrots, and so-called "concert-parties" devastating 
 the place, and so I tell them they must join us in a 
 game of make-believe. I tell them too of the delight-
 
 210 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 ful little grey village by the sea I used to love, where 
 we drove down the steep narrow street in fear and 
 terror lest we should meet the great stone wagons and 
 have to back and stop. There were places every now 
 and then in the road where we could draw in and let 
 the wagons pass, but the drive always seemed perilous 
 to me, and more so when we met the mail coach with 
 its hilarious driver, its four broken-kneed steeds, and 
 its harness mended in a dozen different places with 
 cords and string and divers rotten straps. 
 
 But once down the street, past the old fish-shop with 
 its great bow window jutting out into the road, we 
 came out on a scene of elysium at least it was one to 
 me. 
 
 There were no crowds, no entertainments, nothing 
 save a wide stretch of sea and the bluest bay in the 
 world, with the tide racing in over the point, and the 
 sea-birds calling as they passed, or as they floated up 
 and down on the tiny ridiculous little waves. The 
 pier was a mere wooden structure a " span long," and 
 one part of the shore was given over to the " bankers." 
 Not men of money as the name would denote, but 
 great heaps of stone, where the men chipped, chipped, 
 chipped, ceaselessly, and made the stone ready for the 
 high-wheeled carts which were taken out to low, grey 
 barges by horses sometimes, when the tide was low 
 enough down to reach the boats. Then the stone was 
 hoisted from the carts, and I can see the great patient 
 beasts walk out into the sea; then the stone is lifted
 
 AUGUST-THE YEAR STAYS STILL 211 
 
 into the low barges, and they go out to the big boats, 
 and I see their red sails make off out into the open, 
 past Old Harry, and so the scene is repeated over and 
 over again in memory only, alas ! 
 
 There was no railway then nearer than Hamworth, 
 and I always dreaded the days when the iron horse 
 should reach it, for I knew that our beauty spot was 
 doomed to die and disappear, and indeed indeed it 
 has ! 
 
 "Better for trade," shout the folk of to-day; "a 
 growing watering-place," say others, and rub their 
 hands. They do not weep as I do over the disappear- 
 ance of the fern-clad lanes leading up to the great 
 beautiful hills; over the dead-and-gone Osmunda 
 regalis the brier roses and all the flowers, and the 
 silent wonderful walk along the cliffs. No; they re- 
 joice at the horrible red town of suburban residences 
 that has eclipsed all the old beauty, and are thankful 
 when these places are so full that children appear to 
 fall out of every window and door, when each square 
 of " garden " is crammed with towels and bathing 
 dresses hung out to dry, and every passage holds 
 buckets, spades and perambulators, and for one entire 
 month or six weeks one cannot hear the sea even, for 
 the noise of human beings quite eclipse its musical 
 voice. 
 
 How beautiful it used to be at the Point and up 
 towards the great headland, but now all is altered. 
 Some one with money built a vast sham Castle up
 
 212 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 there where trippers trip and raucous voices rend the 
 air : a great and hideous globe affronts us with its 
 unnecessary display of learning, while the author of 
 these atrocities, long since dead and gone to his rest, 
 put up a seat inscribed, " The sea is his, and he made 
 it," ending it up with his own name, as if he alone 
 were the author, too, of the boundless main. 
 
 No, I will tell the children of what the seaside once 
 was in August, but I will not take them there to stay. 
 Steamers come in and go out all day long, crowded 
 with hilarious folk who no doubt enjoy themselves 
 vastly^ some are emptied out on the shore, where they 
 consume large meals and leave debris for the next 
 tide to remove as it will, others make for the Globe 
 and Castle, and I have heard them declare that the 
 Castle was as old as the hills, and do not believe me 
 when I say I recollect when the monstrosity did not 
 exist. 
 
 .We once had a delightful old brewery too, close to 
 the sea, but that has gone before the all-destroying 
 hands of Time, and house and garden are alike no 
 more. Up the front of the house climbed a vast vine 
 of sweet-water grapes which always ripened, and in the 
 garden was asparagus that cannot now be bought for 
 love or money. Something in the soil suited it so 
 marvellously that it was better than the best grown 
 now-a-days, and it was earlier, too, than our own, and 
 how I loved that quaint old house, to be sure, where 
 the dining-room door opened straight into the office;
 
 AUGUST THE YEAR STAYS STILL 213 
 
 without the least disguise; and where sometimes the 
 brook rose up in a hurry and entered the house, endan- 
 gering the malt-house, which had to be cleared at 
 midnight now and again, as the brook rose and bid 
 fair to take all out to sea. 
 
 Here lived David's ducks, the fattest and whitest 
 of their kind, and into that brook fell every child who 
 ever went near it, for it was a treacherous creature; 
 it looked so small and cool and placid, and yet it could 
 wet most thoroughly once any small person slipped in. 
 How I wish I could sit once more in that garden and 
 smell the clean smell from the brewery, and hear the 
 horses and the men, and then go in to the modest 
 lunch the manager's wife would now and then provide. 
 Yet she was the drawback to the place to me, for she 
 had no idea of management; she worked vast em- 
 broidered pictures which were too dreadful for words, 
 and I recollect a very pink-cheeked Joseph being 
 bound by his swarthy brethren before being placed in 
 the pit where I longed to put the "work of art." I 
 also remember Charles the First with a white woollen, 
 loosely-falling feather in his black velvet hat, with a 
 child on his knee, and spaniels with boot-buttons for 
 eyes on the worked floor; but the table-cloths were 
 always in holes, and the children's clothes wanted 
 mending one and all. Poor soul, she had a vast family 
 and died years and years ago of consumption, and 
 most, if not all the family is gone, too, but I think if 
 she had lived out of doors, mended her house-linen,
 
 214 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 and left her Berlin wool chef d'ceuvres alone, things 
 would have been better. Still, I suppose, these were 
 her one great joy and achievement, and that I could 
 not admire, made me " short with her," as the servants 
 say. Now I know I ought to have wondered and 
 admired; she would have been happier, and I should 
 not have been one penny the worse ! 
 
 The rooms were all panelled, too. Such nice 
 rooms ! What destruction to pull the place all down ! 
 I think the railway has swallowed it completely up, I 
 know it goes close by the churchyard, once so distant, 
 silent and peaceful, and where once I took my small 
 niece, who shared my pleasure in a walk among the 
 tombs. 
 
 "Did you enjoy your walk, and how did you like 
 the churchyard ? " asked her mother. ' The walk was 
 good, but there was no one in the cemetery," she said 
 sadly. Now it is more than full, and I believe has 
 even been added to. I can visit my friends and an 
 enemy or two there still, but some of the graves are 
 almost unmarked now-a-days, so swiftly does Time do 
 his work, and obliterate, if there be none at hand to 
 see that matters are not allowed to lapse for want of 
 care. 
 
 We had three ways to the sea in the old days, and, 
 indeed, there are still three, but one is rendered 
 perilous by motors, and I believe the beautiful hedges 
 are to be cut, and the corners rounded off to make the 
 traffic safe, so I shall never go that way again. I
 
 AUGUST-THE YEAR STAYS STILL 215 
 
 would rather recollect the woods where the nightin- 
 gales always sang, and where the pheasants were 
 reared in hundreds, where the ditches were full of 
 ferns and the spring flowers were worth going miles to 
 see; and where cowslips, bluebells, primroses, white 
 anemones, foxgloves and wild roses in profusion 
 followed after each other. I have gone there when 
 one has not met a soul in the whole ten miles; now if 
 one escapes with one's life one is lucky, and the 
 traffic in August is more than a lover of peace can 
 really bear. 
 
 I often wonder what the old-time constant visitors 
 to the place would say if they were alive and saw it 
 now : the Walter Fields, with their enormous family, 
 the Pollocks, the Palgraves, the Farrers, the Huxleys, 
 all on the beach and all for the time great and intimate 
 friends. We welcomed August then, old acquain- 
 tances came back regularly with the season, strange 
 flowers were found, weird creatures were dug from the 
 cliffs, and fossils at Chapman's Pool. Farther afield 
 old and, if the truth be told, dilapidated churches were 
 visited ; these are better now-a-days, better kept, better 
 served, but the old folk are gone. No longer old 
 Bower paints sea-birds on the wide settles in his 
 public-house, where I obtained the last of the blue-and- 
 white English mugs which were once the only mugs 
 used in the place after the old pewter was given up. 
 Now glasses are more genteel, I wonder if pewter 
 will come in again? Most things are in circles, and
 
 216 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 no doubt some day pewters will be once more the 
 proper thing ! But the public-house as it was can only 
 barely exist now-a-days, and this one may be closed 
 for all I know. Yet the quarriers must go somewhere, 
 and that race of men are still much as they were, a 
 race by themselves, and here I do not think the 
 railway has interfered at all. The scene is just the 
 same, the stone-walled quarries stand alone and 
 separate, each surrounded by its own particular wall, 
 and in most cases having its own sheds. Here in wet 
 weather the quarrier sits chipping his stone into port- 
 able shape, and sometimes he shares the shed with a 
 patient shaggy donkey, who earns its living by going 
 round and round dragging miniature trucks laden with 
 stone up a small incline that leads down into the 
 quarry itself. 
 
 It is a curious group of men that holds these 
 quarries, and keeps the working of the stone in the 
 hands alone of the freemen thereof. 
 
 To be able to become a quarrier one must take up 
 one's freedom, and be the legitimate son of a freeman. 
 The original holders of the quarries were few in 
 number, and I do not know if these rigid rules have 
 been relaxed. But I do know that the quarriers still 
 meet once a year and solemnly read over their charter, 
 and on that occasion (Shrove Tuesday) " Free Boys " 
 can claim or take up their freedom, having previously 
 expressed their intention of doing so by assembling 
 on Candlemas Day, and parading the streets headed
 
 AUGUST THE YEAR STAYS STILL 217 
 
 by a band, and accompanied by the steward of the 
 quarries, or " marblers " as they are called in all the old 
 papers relating to the body. The man who is anxious 
 to take up his freedom must be twenty-one, up to that 
 age his wages belong to his parents; but after he has 
 signed the roll of freemen, paid his fee of 6s. Sd. 
 (half a mark in the old 'days), and provided a penny 
 loaf made on purpose by the bakers of the place, and 
 likewise produced two pots of beer, he becomes his 
 own master and has a quarry all to himself should he 
 choose. Then when he marries, he pays the steward a 
 marriage shilling, and woe to his belongings should 
 he forget the tribute ! For if he should, his widow 
 would lose all interest in the quarry at once, and could 
 not take an apprentice to work for her as she otherwise 
 might. 
 
 The parade of the Free Boys on Candlemas was 
 formerly a most riotous proceeding, as they claimed 
 the privilege of kissing any woman they happened to 
 meet, and often free fights ensued. But this is one of 
 the things that pass, unregretted even by me, and the 
 parade is decorous in the extreme. 
 
 Nothing will induce the quarriers to allow strangers 
 to work among them, and should one be discovered, 
 he is sent about his business at once. At Portland 
 a stranger may have a week's work, but then off he 
 must go. If he do not depart he is taken down to the 
 sea and shown a plank, up which he is requested to 
 walk. As the plank is so placed that the result of a
 
 218 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 promenade thereon would be instant immersion in the 
 ocean, the would-be quarrier departs. I do not know 
 where he goes, but to some less guarded country, for 
 here the quarriers will have none of him at all. The 
 wardens of the charter have great power, and are 
 elected, or may be re-elected once a year. Then after 
 the election of the wardens the freemen are sworn in, 
 and the ceremony of kicking the football begins. 
 The football is produced by the man who was last 
 married among the freemen, and in this case takes the 
 place of the marriage shilling. It used to be regularly 
 kicked for quite a long way : I believe to show that the 
 road was free to sundry quays on the river ; but now it 
 is carried with a pound of pepper to the Lord of the 
 Manor, and in old days pancakes were presented in 
 return by the steward, but I think this custom has long 
 ago been given up. The charter is supposed to date 
 from 1066, but no one has seen that; the existing one 
 bears the date 1551, but the marblers themselves 
 believe in the existence of the earlier one. 
 
 Whoever drew it up must have been timorous and 
 secretive ; and very strong, too, on moral grounds, for 
 they will not take an apprentice who is " base born " 
 or whose parents are of " loose lyfe." Neither shall 
 the apprentice himself either be or have been a " loose 
 lyfer," and no man of the company is to " under 
 creep" his fellow-tradesmen or take away from him 
 " any bargain of work of his trade " upon the for- 
 feiture of ffive poundes." Neither are the quarriers
 
 AUGUST-THE YEAR STAYS STILL 219 
 
 to be too close together, a hundred feet above and 
 under ground being insisted on, though the latter-day 
 quarriers have not always kept to that. The stone 
 runs in blocks with dry clay lines between each block, 
 and this enables the quarrier to insert his instrument 
 and work out the stone without resorting to the 
 blasting that is often so destructive in its effects and 
 makes such a hideous racket. The soft clay deadens 
 somewhat the sounds the workers make, and this gave 
 rise to a most amusing incident. 
 
 One of the men used to work at night, gradually 
 getting into his neighbour's ground, while curiously, 
 that same neighbour was struck with the same desire 
 for other people's property, and was working away 
 also at night with an eye to appropriating the stone. 
 One night the last layer of clay was divided and the 
 men met, or rather the glimmer of the candles by 
 which they were working met their eyes simul- 
 taneously. Without one word they each caught up a 
 lump of clay and filled up the hole, and discreetly 
 retired. 
 
 Both men were to blame, of course, but neither 
 wished the warden to come down on them and claim 
 the "ffive poundes " insisted on by the charter, though, 
 as the money was to be paid to the "owner of the 
 quarry unto whom the offence was dunn," I do not 
 know how matters would have been arranged at all. 
 But now-a-days if one is hale and hearty, one can 
 wander among the quarries and not meet a dozen
 
 220 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 people, nay, not one single soul. But it is well to be 
 careful, for there are unknown dangers, and quarries 
 into which one may slip, which are not now worked, 
 for for some unknown reason the stone is not in a flour- 
 ishing condition. Once all London was paved from 
 the quarries, but I expect wooden pavements and 
 curious manufactured stuff take its place. I do not 
 want to drive over stone setts ever again, but I should 
 like the quarries to flourish, and if I were rich I would 
 build a stone house or two, and pull down the red- 
 brick abominations in the new district. Red-brick is 
 an insult to our beautiful hills, and stone is on the 
 spot. One need not talk about Providence or matters 
 of that kind, but I do think when one finds stone on 
 the spot only an utterly ignorant person would crave 
 for red-brick. 
 
 Stone suits the atmosphere, the strong silence of the 
 hills, red-brick screams aloud; and not even the 
 passage of years, nor the bountiful trailing of creepers, 
 allows the houses built of that stuff to look anything 
 save incongruous and absurd. 
 
 " No, children," I say, " I will not go to the sea in 
 August to stay, of that be very sure. You can all drift 
 off for the day to one or two of the tiny bays round 
 the coast, but I will remain in the garden and watch 
 the year come to a pause, before it turns round and 
 goes steadily, steadily, quicker and quicker down the 
 long hill to winter's chill and gloom." And the garden 
 is so beautiful in August despite this remark, that I am
 
 AUGUST THE YEAR STAYS STILL 221 
 
 really only too glad to be lazy and take mine ease 
 in my chair surrounded with my books and accom- 
 panied by my beloved dogs, and the spirits of the past. 
 These must have made me recollect the quarries, for I 
 watched the car over the Causeway, and knew they 
 were all going to picnic in the bay one reaches past 
 the thickest part of quarriers' land. How well I 
 remember that awful approach; one turns out of the 
 main road and ascends a narrow rocky precipice called 
 a road, I suppose, but anything less like one I have 
 never seen, and then one can walk a little way, open a 
 gate, and cross sundry fields. There any vehicle must 
 be left, I do not know what a car can do, but I do not 
 believe it can negotiate that road, and so it will have 
 to be left at a cottage in the care of some old man who 
 will make himself responsible for the welfare thereof. 
 Then there is a sharp descent to the shore, where three 
 or four cottages nestle under the curious cliffs. 
 
 Now-a-days, in the wondrous manner in which folk 
 make holiday in troops, these places are crowded with 
 lodgers. I do not know where they sleep or what they 
 do. I fancy once landed in their narrow quarters they 
 remain there, loaf silently in the sunshine, and curse 
 if it be wet, and for one fine summer, truly, how many 
 wet ones do we have ? 
 
 I do not think Claudia and Beata realize quite what 
 they will find on that shore, nor how utterly dreadful 
 the families of the ordinary Britisher are, when they 
 unbend en famille, and care only to enjoy themselves
 
 222 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 coute que coute. The man, who is doubtless a staid, 
 black-coated sombre creature going daily into the 
 City from some small and neat suburban villa, looks 
 like the villain in the play. He bursts out into ready- 
 made flannels (and indeed often bursts out of them), 
 into striped shirts and socks and washing hats. The 
 careful mother of a family unbends in a corsetless 
 condition, wears a short skirt, very short in front, and 
 a blouse which does not meet her skirt at the back, 
 and as often as not either goes without a hat, shoes or 
 stockings, or else contents herself with an old cloth 
 cap of her husband's and very old sand shoes, while 
 the children, alternately over-fed, spoiled and 
 smacked, crowd the place. In recollecting all this, I 
 know I am better at home, and I know that Claudia 
 will agree with me that August by the sea is anything 
 but the delight it used at one time to be. 
 
 Even from my garden I can watch motor char-a- 
 bancs making for the Castle four miles away, which, 
 free as air in the old days, has to be roped in now 
 and guarded from harm, because the numerous visitors 
 cannot help chipping the stones or carving their names 
 on the beautiful place. Even the church is not always 
 sacred, great drag-loads of trippers come to it from all 
 sides, and make the old town hideous with their yells. 
 It is such a grey, sleepy, lovely old town, too, except 
 in August, that any one going there in December, or, 
 indeed, at any time save in the holiday month, would 
 never believe it would wake at all. Yet have I seen
 
 AUGUST-THE YEAR STAYS STILL 223 
 
 it swarming with folk, and even rescued the caretaker 
 once from Dan Leno': poor man, he was almost at his 
 last gasp, as far as his intellect went, his attendant had 
 left him for a few minutes, and he had hustled and 
 shaken the frightened woman with all his might. A 
 call brought his doctor on the scene, but her arm was 
 black and blue, and she was so nervous, she hardly 
 knew what was to happen next, especially as a whole 
 brake-load of men were up the tower; it was time to 
 close, they were exchanging hilarious remarks now 
 with friends in the Castle, and no one could make 
 them stop. Finally, the policeman came to the rescue 
 and threatened to lock up the tower for the night. 
 This brought the men helter-skelter down, the brake- 
 man sounded a bugle, and the brake went off. 
 
 I could hear their shouts for miles, and the quiet 
 country was spoiled by their " humour." Why cannot 
 their class enjoy itself without noise? I suppose they 
 cannot understand the beauty of silence, and always 
 living in a noise, dread silence as they dread always 
 anything that is unfamiliar to them at home. 
 
 This special August, too, was so hot, so hot : I could 
 not bear to see the fields and hedges, they looked so 
 dry and dead, even the trees were burned up, and one 
 day I noticed a little mole in the garden running 
 about with its nose in the air sniffing and trying to 
 smell water, I suppose. I was right : Molly and 
 Philip took out a saucerful and stood by it while it 
 drank. I have never seen a mole so tame before;
 
 224 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 though in hot summers I have seen them come above 
 ground often, they have rushed away at the sound of a 
 footstep. Creatures suffer from lack of water in the 
 summer quite as much as they do in the winter, from 
 that and from the lack of food. My so-called ponds 
 are always full, but this mole was not near one of 
 them, he must have been hard pressed and suffered 
 greatly, poor little fellow, before he became so tame, 
 at any rate, as long as the heat lasted we left him out 
 his saucer, and it was always emptied. We only saw 
 him once after. I hope no dog or mole-catcher caught 
 him. I do hate the little soft grey beasts being caught 
 and slaughtered, and always make away with any trap 
 I find. I dare say they do a little harm; I do not 
 admire their earthworks on my lawn, but no doubt 
 they do good, too, anyhow I will not have them killed, 
 they shall share my sanctuary, where humans, at any 
 rate, shall not war against their poorer brethren of the 
 animal world. 
 
 How can people be cruel to animals? I, for one, 
 cannot understand the man who can kick a dog, or 
 needlessly slay a lovely bird. I have hated for more 
 than forty years a clerical sportsman who resorted to 
 the vile old trick of shooting at a dog which would not 
 come at his call. No doubt the shot was nearer than 
 he thought, but the poor beast's cries rang in my ears, 
 and when I saw his bleeding side, I rounded on the 
 man. I have never spoken to him since, he may be 
 dead for all I know, anyhow, I hope if he is, that he
 
 AUGUST-THE YEAR STAYS STILL 225 
 
 is now the dog and the dog the man, though if he be, 
 I know that the dog is too noble to really retaliate on 
 his tormentor, as I should so love him to. 
 
 Lucius' great trouble is that he must keep one or 
 two of his dogs chained up in the wood, and cannot let 
 all range free at their will, but not one of them is left 
 on the chain for long. No doubt poachers may be 
 tempted to try and snatch a bird here or there, but 
 they cannot get enough to pay them for their risk, 
 and the wood is too far from the train to be of much 
 use to them, neither do we preserve in the accepted 
 sense of the word. 
 
 Besides recollecting an adventure I once had, I 
 have advised a stock of guinea-fowl, these are better 
 really than any watchdogs, and roost too high for 
 poachers to get them, try how they will. If they are 
 hatched on the spot they do not stray, so the wood is 
 policed by guinea-fowl, or " gelanies " as they are 
 called locally, and their instant shriek of " come back, 
 come back, come back," rouses Lucius and his man at 
 once, and at all times gives full notice of any stranger 
 or poacher in the wood ! They know our steps quite 
 well, and keep quiet. I am very fond, too, of the 
 speckled black-and-white creatures, they are so 
 decorative, to use an affected word, and their lord and 
 master keeps the females in such splendid order. One 
 longs for the suffragettes to be turned into guinea- 
 hens, really it would be an excellent fate for them in 
 their next incarnation, at any rate. Guinea-hens' eggs,
 
 226 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 too, are supposed to be quite delicious, but I cannot 
 bear them, or ducks', or peacocks', turkeys', or goose' 
 eggs : all the same, one guinea-hen's egg is as good 
 as three for cooking, and I am unique in my dislike, I 
 believe, so when Lucius brings me in a store, I can 
 only thank him and ask him generally about his work. 
 
 He has now been with me over two years, and one 
 would hardly know him for the same man; he is so 
 strong and upright, and looks so well and happy. He 
 is one of those to whom Nature does appeal really, 
 and though he, too, loves his gun, he loves his dogs, 
 his birds, and his studies of their ways in general, 
 better, and I often thank the spirit at my elbow, or 
 whatever it was caused me to reply to that advertise- 
 ment, and get him down to this calm and blessed spot. 
 
 They are all out this August day at Chapman's 
 Pool, and I know they will not return until the sun is 
 low, and when Lucius comes into the garden I wonder 
 to myself if he knows that no one else is about. At 
 first we talk about the quarries and the Pool, and the 
 children and the weather, and I am glad to hear, too, 
 that the decoy is once more in working order, and that 
 we are to go out soon and see all that has been done. 
 
 I have not been to the wood now for a few weeks, 
 the road has not one atom of shade, and the heat is 
 dreadful still, and I listen to all Lucius has to say. 
 The fire-crested wren, round whose small, thin claw 
 a silver ring was placed a year ago, has returned once 
 again and brought up her family comfortably, the one-
 
 AUGUST-THE YEAR STAYS STILL 227 
 
 legged blackbird has done the same, the same 
 swallows have returned to the shed and are bringing 
 up a second brood, and as for the nut-hatches, they 
 have increased and multiplied exceedingly, though I 
 am annoyed to hear that starlings have ejected the 
 woodpeckers, and have taken possession of their 
 holes in which to place their nests. The jays and 
 magpies are also increasing, but Lucius is rather 
 dubious about those robber birds. I love to hear the 
 cry of the jay and see the flash of their blue wings 
 and their heads with the top-knots, and the magpies 
 are delightful. It is not a case of live and let live, 
 alas ! with either bird ; all the same I must keep them 
 sacred. There are fewer jays and magpies in England 
 after all than there are of the smaller, more ordinary 
 birds, and if these suffer in my wood they are amply 
 protected in other parts of the country, where Bird 
 means merely a partridge or pheasant, and the others 
 get the shortest of short shrifts. 
 
 I could see that Lucius was not quite himself this 
 hot and gasping afternoon, and I began to wonder 
 what may be going to happen. Is there thunder 
 about, or has something occurred that he does not like 
 to tell me, I wonder? At last I asked him straight 
 out. He blushed and stammered, and then he drew 
 a letter from his pocket. 
 
 " I hope you will not mind reading this," he said, 
 "or think me conceited for showing it to you, but do 
 you not think it is much too good to be true ? "
 
 228 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 I took the letter and turned it over in the aimless 
 way one turns a letter to see from whom it comes 
 before one plunges into the contents. The seal bore 
 the name of a well-known firm of publishers, I looked 
 up at him and smiled. " I never soared to such a 
 height in my best days," I said ; " I suppose the book 
 is taken, then ? " and I opened the letter and read 
 words, that in my youth, aye, that even now would at 
 once and for ever have sent me into the seventh 
 heaven and kept me there in permanence for the rest 
 of my sentient days. I have had kind words from 
 publishers amongst the many rebuffs that have been 
 my portion, but never such words as these, and I did 
 not wonder at Lucius' look of sheer pride and delight. 
 
 It was not the money, that was scarcely touched on, 
 except to say that books fell out head over heels from 
 the publishers ; that the British public was an ass, and 
 that one could never tell what it would reject or accept, 
 but that the readers had reported in such terms that 
 the head of the firm had read the book for himself. 
 He happened to be a keen naturalist, would Lucius 
 come up and see him and discuss matters, so then, if 
 they agreed, the book should come out in the early 
 spring ? 
 
 Let me own up at once that I was a little jealous 
 for myself, it was my country, my wood, for years I 
 had written on the same lines, but Lucius had won at 
 a bound commendation I could never hope to gain. 
 Besides, he had been born in the time of snapshots,
 
 AUGUST THE YEAR STAYS STILL 229 
 
 and he, being a male creature, could lie out at earliest 
 dawn, or even make use of a flashlight, and had taken 
 such views and illustrations that my eyes had never 
 seen before. 
 
 He had had advantages oh ! how mean-spirited 
 I was in my old age ! Bless the boy ! Let the young 
 generation not only knock at the door, but enter gaily 
 in; let them replenish our failing fires, and let them 
 above all know how we welcome their eager presence 
 in our midst ! After all, Lucius was my boy in a 
 measure : here were our talks crystallized, I know. 
 Harrow and Cambridge had given him what I could 
 never have had : besides, I was a back number, he held 
 the future in his hands oh ! I was base to think for 
 a minute of my loss, when his was the great and 
 splendid gain. 
 
 I hope he did not read my horrid thoughts, and I 
 think he did not. He was so sure I should be as glad 
 as he was that he did not watch my face, and at last 
 I spoke .: " Oh, I am glad, glad, now you are afloat, 
 Lucius, indeed, such a letter is worth waiting for, and 
 I do wish, for once, that the British public may not be 
 an ass; still, if it be content with carrots and chaff, be 
 assured you will reach the hearts of the best and will 
 become a classic. Since the days of Jeffreys no one 
 has done work to emulate your own, and of that I, for 
 one, am very, very sure." 
 
 Lucius flushed up to the roots of his curly hair, and 
 took one of my hands in his.
 
 230 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 " The book is yours," he said, " my dear, dear 
 friend, you gave me my chance." 
 
 "Yet you took it," I interrupted; "many have 
 chances given them, only the few take them as you 
 have done, when do you go up and see the 
 gentleman ? " 
 
 " When you can spare me," he replied, " and, 
 indeed, I must not be a night away, nor is there any 
 need now we have all these quick trains now-a-days, 
 and I hate London. I cannot breathe the foul and 
 petrol-scented air, and I verily believe I am afraid of 
 the traffic. No, of nothing else," as I looked up at him 
 rather sharply, " I have not only my work and the 
 wood, but a talisman. I have hope in my heart that 
 some day I may marry, though until this letter came 
 I felt I must be mad to dream of such a happy fate 
 for myself." 
 
 "Claudia?" I breathed. 
 
 Lucius bowed his head and did not speak. 
 
 So Mrs. Paul was right, detestable old woman that 
 she was. She had seen much more clearly than I had 
 what was about to befall, At last I repeated 
 "Claudia? and she?" 
 
 " Oh ! I have not dared to speak, or, indeed, 
 scarcely think," said Lucius, still looking down. " I 
 know I have but little money, and my birth is crooked, 
 but except for the one foolish "burst" I had, my 
 record is clean, and I love her. I have never loved 
 any single soul before : nor even looked at a woman.
 
 AUGUST THE YEAR STAYS STILL 231 
 
 I tell you frankly, when I recollected all I suffered 
 because my mother never wore a wedding-ring, I 
 swore that no child of mine should ever curse me as 
 I did my parents and my fate. Yes, I know I was not 
 so much sinned against as I thought, that my mother 
 died before my father knew her state, or that he could 
 have mended matters, and I knew he suffered, too. 
 But I take no risks : and now, if I do get fame, will 
 Claudia overlook it all, I wonder, and do you think 
 she would ever let me love her as never any woman 
 surely was ever loved before ? " and Lucius lifted his 
 proud young head, and looked me straight in the face. 
 
 I smiled, I could not help it. " Oh, dear lad," I 
 said, "we have all been loved as no woman was before 
 in our time, pray, pray don't forget that fact : it's true, 
 though no doubt you think me remarkably old and 
 foolish and vain to even hint at such a thing. If you 
 only love Claudia to the end, as I was loved, no 
 matter that you think you are the first, I shall be 
 content for her and for you. But I own, frankly, that 
 Claudia has ideas, too; she thinks much of heredity, 
 not on your side, but on her own, her father, you 
 know " 
 
 "Oh yes, I know it all," interrupted Lucius, "but 
 that is sheer nonsense. I, too, believe in heredity, 
 quite, quite as much as ever she can : don't I see it 
 every day in the life around me? Aye, even among 
 the dogs and birds. ' Bon chien chasse de race,' you 
 know. All the same, on neither side have we the two
 
 232 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 great vices, insanity and feebleness of purpose. In- 
 sanity in all its branches would I ban, and the weak 
 will that cannot conquer fate. Both Claudia and I 
 have conquered fate in a measure, and if you do not 
 think me too presumptuous, I will try my luck, but 
 not until my book is out, and I have something more 
 to offer than half the cottage in the wood and a name 
 that is not even my own." 
 
 " But you must not desert the wood ! " I cried. " I 
 shall work against you for all I am worth if you do," 
 and I laughed to see his face of utter dismay. " Now 
 listen quietly," I added. " I do believe Claudia cares 
 for you, her face softens when she sees you coming, 
 and I have known her hand shake even when she 
 hands you your tea ; small signs you will say, but you 
 recollect it's the tiny bits of wood in the river that tell 
 the men the tide is on the turn and they can put down 
 their nets : you can put down your net, Lucius, but do 
 not draw it in to shore in a hurry, wait for the book 
 and let that show her what she already knows, at least, 
 what a dear sweet nature-loving soul is all her own." 
 And I lifted his bowed head and kissed the lad as if 
 he had been my own. 
 
 We did not say much more, but sat in silence and 
 waited for the sunset. Far away we could hear the 
 creak of the reaping-machine among the ripened 
 barley, and we knew that harvest-time was near. The 
 trees on the Causeway rattled a little and our own 
 trees rustled as if they were castanets or bones, so
 
 AUGUST-THE YEAR STAYS STILL 233 
 
 dry and shrivelled were they. The blackbirds flew 
 out of the great mulberry-tree with a shrill scream, 
 making for their nests for the night, and the sky 
 flushed red, red, red. Then a softer pale pink des- 
 cended, we could see the church tower reflected in the 
 river as in some mirror, and we heard the fussy little 
 tug coming up from the quay, whence it had taken the 
 clay barges to Poole, and I thought of my long-dead 
 friends. They were the past, I was the fading present, 
 passing, passing on, and Lucius held the future in his 
 hands. I could not help but feel a chill. It was only 
 the other day that little fussy tug took us all out 
 beyond Sandbanks, a gay, riotous, youthful party :. 
 and now, all save I myself, were dead. Surely it was 
 time for me to go, too ! 
 
 The sunset faded, the beautiful harvest moon was 
 climbing up far too quickly to copy Philip's idea of 
 being Humpty-Dumpty on the hills once more, and 
 then I heard the hoot of the motor, and I knew that 
 Claudia was at hand. She always gives me one parti- 
 cular note, somewhat resembling the laughing gulls 
 at the Point, that I may know it is she, and I looked 
 at Lucius. He had put the letter away in his pocket- 
 book, and I told him to go in and write a reply. My 
 telephone would give him his answer to-morrow, if the 
 next day would suit the publisher, and he could be in 
 at ten o'clock and wait here for the reply. 
 
 Then an avalanche of children and dogs fell into 
 the garden, even Peter had his trophies, shells, and a
 
 234 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 great ammonite, with which he would not part, though 
 Beata had to join forces and beg him to recollect his 
 toes, while Molly and Philip were buried in bracken 
 and seaweed to keep off the flies, and were altogether 
 so sandy, so wonderfully filthy, that I packed them 
 off through the trellis-work gate to their own part of 
 the house, while I went out to look for Claudia. 
 
 But I did not go far : Lucius oh ! silly lad ! was 
 showing her the letter, and then she drove off. She 
 had forgotten me, I suppose, it was but natural, after 
 all. Had I, in my time, never forgotten my elders? 
 How can we older folk live if we do not recollect 
 fiercely all we once were and did? I knew I should 
 have a message later on, and that most likely she 
 would come up later still, after her dinner; they should 
 not know that I had seen them now, at any rate, and I 
 will not be huffed or offended. Ridiculous, indeed, to 
 be either ! I have had my day. I, too, was once in 
 Arcadia, and indeed at times, despite everything, I 
 am not at all sure that I am not there sometimes even 
 up to the present day.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 SEPTEMBER THE HARVEST MOON 
 
 IF you will give me September in the country, I 
 will make you a present of all the other months, for 
 none other is as full of memories for me, and, indeed, 
 of happenings also. 
 
 " Come out ! 'tis now September ! " I wish I could, 
 but as I cannot, it is well to know that others can, 
 and that I have simply to sit and dream and have it 
 all over again in peace and quiet in my own silent 
 garden below the hills. I am sure "every dog that 
 is a dog," as the old keeper used to say, knows when 
 the month comes in, and though they are not the 
 highly-trained companions they used to be, they still 
 come round the windows and wait for the well-known 
 whistle. 
 
 Other lips give the whistle now-a-days, but to me 
 that makes no difference. I know the simple luncheon 
 is prepared, the " dog-trap," which others call dog- 
 cart, is ready, the dogs are lifted in and off goes the 
 merry party. If not from my door, well ! from some 
 one else, and so goes the world along and right joy- 
 fully, and it does not matter if some one else is the 
 motive power, and we are no longer as we once were 
 wont to be. 
 
 235
 
 236 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 What a time of storm and stress and real hard 
 work was September when I was young. I can even 
 recollect when the cartridges were home-made, and 
 when percussion caps were used : and when men rilled 
 the cartridges themselves and had no idea that they 
 could buy them all ready, and that the guns would 
 never need the caps, which always smelt horribly when 
 they went off, and left traces of themselves on the 
 fields and among the furrows. I wonder who has my 
 father's gun, or if it be still in existence; it is many 
 years now since he shot, for he was put off it by seeing 
 a keeper so wounded that he lost the sight of his eyes. 
 Now if my father lost his sight, where would we all 
 be? or at least all those for whom he was still 
 responsible, for after the manner of the ordinary 
 British paterfamilias the moment he had married or 
 started out his offspring, he never gave us a second 
 thought. He might promise, but he never performed, 
 and was even as some bird or animal is towards his 
 young. " Grown-up, get out : fend for yourselves." 
 An excellent motto, but one that would have been 
 better if not forced so very prominently before our 
 eyes. 
 
 Certainly he was the most amusing, if happy-go- 
 lucky, parent any one was ever blessed with, and 
 September was of all months the one of all others 
 that was sacred to him. 
 
 I sit under the same trees he loved, and in the same 
 chair he used, and he is a handful of ashes in a
 
 SEPTEMBER THE HARVEST MOON 237 
 
 dreadful little urn in a London churchyard, and yet to 
 me he is as alive in September as he ever was in 
 truth. 
 
 Hamworth was all agog and awake when he came 
 down, silver was taken out from great baize bags and 
 burnished, best dinner services were unwrapped and 
 washed and polished, and days were solemnly set 
 apart for each shoot. I do not think, nay, I know, 
 that not one of the hosts is alive, not one of the shoots 
 in the same hands, and yet for me they are all the 
 same living, kind and hospitable creatures, all ready 
 as of old to give him the best of sport and the largest 
 and heaviest dinners that could be had. 
 
 Here is MacManchester himself ! Very gaunt and 
 hideous to a degree, but always ready with the finest 
 and newest of guns and the most profuse luncheon 
 possible, to be followed later on by an enormous 
 dinner, at which " turkey poults " and a saddle of 
 mutton must at one and the same time be on the board. 
 I can see that great dining-room now, with its twenty 
 odd guests, and the food and wine that were then 
 considered quite necessary. Two soups, two vast 
 fishes, a turbot, trimmed with elaborate coral from 
 the lobster, and cut slices of lemon, at one end, and 
 a cod at the other, the endless side dishes and so on, 
 until we reached dessert, and then fruit, the names of 
 which were all told us, and the pedigrees of the trees 
 from whence they came, and oh ! the wine ! In my 
 time no one took one glass too much, all the same a
 
 238 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 quantity went down. How did people afford such 
 entertaining, I wonder? Even we had our wine- 
 cellar, so had all the worthies in Hamworth and round 
 about. I do not believe as much wine is drunk in a 
 year now-a-days as was at one of those dinner-parties, 
 one and all, in the old Septembers, and I do not know 
 really if folk are any better for such abstemiousness. 
 Indeed, then, no one spoke of their divers diseases or 
 their fads in food, all ate and drank and were merry, 
 at any rate, they were happier, and that is something 
 in a world that is all too apt to be melancholy at the 
 best of times. 
 
 Poor old MacManchester ! He, at any rate, did 
 not love the sport side of September, and would 
 gladly have been left at home, but his spouse had 
 ambition, and Hamworth in those days had no use 
 for a man who was not a sportsman and able to go 
 with the tide. He always looked most melancholy 
 when out with his gun, and rarely if ever let it off. 
 " Is that an air-gun, MacManchester? " he was asked, 
 when he brought out a new lethal weapon. 
 
 He regarded it with a melancholy smile : " Well, I 
 do shoot 'ares with it," he replied after a while, and 
 silence fell upon the party. He had not even a bow- 
 ing acquaintance with H's, and his language was 
 curious. ' 'Ave a bit of the lid ? " was his query if 
 a pie confronted him, and " 'Ow's your 'eels ? " was his 
 inquiry of a lamed sportsman whose heels were galled 
 by unaccustomedly heavy shooting-boots.
 
 SEPTEMBER THE HARVEST MOON 239 
 
 Yet set that man down to the organ, and even the 
 soulless piano, and he would flood the place with 
 melody. He was a born musician, of that there is no 
 doubt at all, and he should have been one. 
 
 Instead, Providence made him a mill hand, then 
 showed him a way to run the blockade in the American 
 Civil War, money flowed in. Why not become a 
 country gentleman and make his way in the South, 
 as he never could have done in the overpoweringly 
 rich and unbending northern clime? How many 
 years has he been dead, I wonder? Quite thirty, if 
 not more, and yet I can see him as plainly as ever : 
 either at the organ, his ungainly limbs all over the 
 place, or at the head of his overflowing table : knife 
 and fork in either hand and his elbows on the table 
 itself, as he paused in his carving to ask us each our 
 favourite portion, or of the " turkey poults," or of the 
 mutton, for sometimes he took one dish and some- 
 times the other. I can't recollect any conversation 
 at all at those dreadful parties, save about the food, 
 the wine, or the day's sport. The women were mostly 
 silent at dinner-time, but afterwards servants, children 
 and household matters were discussed. Books and 
 literature meant nothing to them, housekeeping was 
 a deadly business then, recipes were exchanged, 
 menus criticized, and comments made on the vanity, 
 the manners and dress of the serving-maids. Oh ! 
 how I wished that I were a man ! At any rate, I 
 should have had the delightful tramp through the
 
 240 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 roots and stubble ! I should have been out in the air 
 all day and need not have sat and listened to the 
 deadly talk. And I, who had been accustomed to 
 the best talk that London gave, could not stand it ! 
 What wonder that I got out of these gatherings when 
 I could, and made myself doubly unpopular by so 
 doing. 
 
 There was such a fearsome sameness, too, about 
 the food and the people; if at the MacManchesters' 
 we met the turkey poults unfailingly, at the rest we 
 met saddle of mutton and boiled fowls, with a tongue 
 sitting between them as if to keep the peace. I never 
 see a boiled fowl now without recollecting those 
 dreadful feeds; we used to speculate as to whether 
 the sauce would be parsley and butter or egg sauce, 
 for that was the only possible difference, and even the 
 sweets had a distinct family likeness. 
 
 It was too bad, really, to jeer and scoff at those 
 meals, they were the outcome of real hard work and 
 thought, and sometimes when in later years I have 
 been confronted with horrible messes and snippets 
 of a hundred different things, I have even remembered 
 respectfully the turkey poults, though I do not regret 
 either the host or hostess. 
 
 Others I do regret, indeed, and would bring back 
 if I could : my gay and charming aunt and her kindly 
 spouse, whose open yawns at the stroke of ten sent 
 us off one and all as quickly as we could go. Then 
 there was the rough-and-ready farmer, who did not
 
 SEPTEMBER THE HARVEST MOON 241 
 
 give dinners or come to them, but was a right good 
 sportsman all the same. He was over eighty when 
 I saw him last : " Tell your father," he said, " I shot 
 three snipe and two woodcock before breakfast this 
 morning, and he'd have been able to do the same if 
 he didn't live in town." 
 
 At any rate, my father was a good ten years older 
 when he died than was my farmer friend, and the air 
 of town kept him going, if it did not allow him to shoot 
 snipe and woodcock in the early morning. 
 
 He had a passion for parsons had that old man, 
 and always had the curates out to shoot. I wonder 
 if clerics shoot now-a-days, or if public opinion is too 
 much for them? They one and all shot round Ham- 
 worth, or if an occasional one did not, he was not 
 liked much and was avoided. Even the doctors and 
 lawyers shot, too. Ah ! September was the holiday 
 month then, and when it comes it is the holiday month 
 for me, for then all the old memories stir and wake 
 once more. The man who could walk all day with 
 his gun and return to a hearty meal was a better man, 
 I vow, than the men of the moment. There was not 
 a secret of Nature he did not know, and he loved 
 every inch of the land on which he walked. Now we 
 have to make sanctuaries, resembling my wood, for the 
 birds, and even for the wild flowers and ferns; then 
 no one dreamed of destruction. Yet I recollect we 
 had to bush the fields the moment the corn was carried, 
 lest the poachers should drag a net over the stubble 
 Q
 
 242 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 and annex all the partridges ; of course, poachers were 
 always present, but now-a-days eggs are stolen. I hear 
 women are not above this unpleasant work, they hunt 
 about for broken wood ; a keeper cannot well demand 
 that the bundle of wood should be opened on the 
 chance of finding eggs, neither can he examine the 
 skirts of the good village mother. Yet I know of 
 some petticoats so hemmed and formed that about 
 two hundred eggs can be carried in these skirts, each 
 in a snug, wadded pocket of its own. Advertisements 
 help these female poachers to dispose of their wares; 
 one finds the nests sometimes, but the eggs are gone ; 
 then pheasants, no doubt reared from one's own eggs, 
 are bought and turned out, and this is sport ! 
 
 I wonder what my great friend the peach-grower 
 would have said to that ! He was another of the 
 band, a kindly soul with a curious wife and a still 
 more curious history, though not even now when both 
 are dead and buried has any one discovered the real 
 truth. He had travelled immensely, read every book 
 that came out, and knew every single thing, but his 
 wife was hopeless. She had been most beautiful, 
 indeed, was beautiful when I knew her, but she had 
 not the most elementary education, could not read or 
 write, and dropped her H's as even did MacMan- 
 chester, yet so little did women matter in those days 
 when sport was concerned that the couple were 
 accepted by all. He was an excellent shot, a good 
 fellow, and she was beautiful, the men were satisfied,
 
 SEPTEMBER THE HARVEST MOON 243 
 
 so it was not for the women to make objections, and, 
 indeed, I do not think any one of them ever thought 
 of doing anything of the kind. Personally, I liked 
 him, and put up with her for the pure joy she gave 
 me in those dull and orthodox times. One never 
 knew what she would or would not do, and she had 
 some delightful children, really delightful in every 
 sense of the word; the girls were pretty and clever, 
 and their father took care they were well educated, 
 and they never suffered one whit from their mother's 
 idiosyncrasies, and when they grew up and came 
 home she was in skilled care. She only died a year 
 or two ago, and I should like to have seen her again. 
 I always recollect her splendid dark eyes and hair, and 
 her complexion of cream and roses. I fancy the far- 
 famed Lady Hamilton must have been something like 
 her, she delighted the eyes of all, but never made a 
 single female friend. 
 
 She tolerated us all in the most amusing way 
 possible, and I always think she was far shrewder than 
 we suspected. I can see her look at us now as she 
 sank into the corner of the sofa after dinner, and put- 
 ting up her feet, glared round and then went calmly 
 to sleep. Some of us raged at her rudeness. I did not. 
 I took up one of the many books about and was quite 
 happy, though she slept and the matrons talked in 
 low and indignant tones about their hostess, and then 
 about the usual things. But when the men came in 
 no one was ever so alert : she did not say much that I
 
 244 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 ever recollect, but she looked like some beautiful 
 child rosy from her slumber, and no wonder they all 
 declared her charming. And so she was to look at, 
 and in those days that was all any woman was 
 expected to be, that is to say, if she could manage 
 her house and her servants and provide a good dinner, 
 and somehow she could do all these. 
 
 Sometimes I believe her husband managed the 
 house as he did his great garden, where peaches grew 
 in such profusion that he absolutely fed his pigs with 
 them, while his strawberries were the first and the 
 largest in the county, and were in such crowds that 
 the children lived on them while they lasted and 
 refused all other food. 
 
 I never knew fruit grow as his did, his gooseberries 
 were golden balls and his currants groups of red and 
 white jewels, and I think he must have had some 
 gardening secret, learned on his many travels. The 
 gardens are all weeds now and the fruit-trees dead. 
 After he died they never bore as in his time. I wish 
 he had left me his secret. I would have made an 
 income out of my trees in these days, when rapid travel 
 is easy, and Bournemouth is grown so great it stretches 
 from Poole on the one side to the sweet and gracious 
 little town of Christchurch on the other. But once 
 only have I had such crops, and that was in Septem- 
 ber, and why they came no one knows. A golden- 
 drop plum-tree on the malt-house wall was a picture, 
 and we had too many to eat, or even give away, and
 
 SEPTEMBER THE HARVEST MOON 245 
 
 it was difficult to give away garden produce in a place 
 where all were supposed to be equally fortunate and 
 have equally splendid things. It would have been 
 an offence to give our friends what no doubt they had 
 themselves, or if they had not they concealed the fact 
 as gracefully as ever the old ladies in Cranford did. 
 
 Why ! I recollect the oldest inhabitant giving the 
 peach-grower some very splendid asparagus, even he 
 owned he had never seen the like, and the very next 
 morning his " lady " arrived with a haunch of mutton 
 on a great dish. " Quick returns make long friends," 
 said she, as she pushed the dish into the hands of the 
 astonished woman, and was off before another word 
 could be said or the dish returned. 
 
 I was consulted as to whether the dish should be 
 sent back full once more, or retained altogether, or 
 sent back empty. It was a hideous white dish covered 
 with red storks in full flight : I volunteered to leave 
 it at the back door some day, for I felt sure that was 
 the best way out of the trouble. I did not want the 
 husband to know of the matter, and I do not think 
 he ever did. 
 
 September brings back all these old stories to me, 
 and Claudia is never tired of hearing of them and of 
 the splendid feasts at the farm-houses where some of 
 the shoots were held ; or rather from where the shooters 
 started. Some day I must get Claudia to drive me 
 over to the North Farm; if at the end we can only 
 peep over the gate, what does it matter? I do not
 
 246 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 know if it be let now, or if any one lives there. I 
 know that for ages it was untenanted, and I was very, 
 very glad. Those were the days of bad landlords, 
 and when the farmers were serfs rather than free men : 
 improvements paid for by the tenants went into the 
 landlords' pockets and stayed there. If the agent 
 rode round and saw all looking trim and prosperous 
 the rent went up next rent day. The farms were held 
 from year to year, and leases were seldom given, and 
 my old friend put all his substance into the land and 
 it remained there when he died. No one would 
 tolerate that Squire now-a-days, but forty years ago 
 he did very much as he liked. All the shooting was 
 kept for him, not even a rabbit or hare might be 
 touched, and yet he only came over for a short day, 
 and the ground game eat the farmer's crops and the 
 foxes decimated the poultry yard. 
 
 Well ! the landlords are paying for it all now, and 
 I, for one, am not sorry for them. Of course one is 
 grieved for the good specimens, which always existed, 
 though even they had narrow ideas of what their 
 tenants might and might not do. And their wives, 
 too, had very strong views on the dress and education 
 fitted for their tenants' families. Well ! all is altered 
 now-a-days, and it is the tenant, not the landowner, 
 that holds the whip in his hand. 
 
 I should much like to see the result of all this, but 
 of course I never shall, and I like to recollect the peace- 
 ful farms with their well-filled bartons, their crowded
 
 SEPTEMBER-THE HARVEST MOON 247 
 
 poultry yards and their overflowing dairies. Nowhere 
 else could one find such cookery, eggs abounded; 
 when I was married they were sevenpence a score in 
 the cheapest part of the year, cream filled vast yellow- 
 lipped bowls lined with white, flour threshed out on 
 the barn floor by hand flails stood in small white sacks 
 on the shelf in the larder ready for use, and meat was 
 abundant. No one had heard of frozen mutton or 
 beef in those days. I do not know what the farmers 
 would have said on the subject if it had been men- 
 tioned. I heard a great deal of grumbling from them 
 one and all, and yet no one lives now-a-days in the 
 sumptuous manner one did at the farm. Even fires 
 were ubiquitous, every bedroom gleamed with great 
 wooden fires : the vast front kitchen fire with its 
 heaped logs never went out. Here the bread was put 
 to rise overnight, covered with clean white napkins; 
 in the early morning it was put into the great brick 
 oven and baked, and the whole house was fragrant, 
 first with the scent of the furze which heated the oven, 
 and then from the baking bread and cakes. Now one 
 buys all one wants from the baker, and I do not believe 
 that it is as good for one as the real old-fashioned 
 food most undoubtedly was. 
 
 How interested we all used to be in Nature's work- 
 ings, too, though we had no science to help us along, 
 and we have never accounted as we could wish for 
 the fact that when a couple of bullfinches, nesting at 
 the farm, hatched out a family of alien-coloured nest-
 
 248 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 lings they declined to rear them, when the feathers 
 came, white, black and piebald, anything save the 
 proper colour, the old folk pushed them out of the 
 nest; some one picked them up, they were too far 
 gone to save alive, but they were large enough to 
 stuff; they still exist in the bird-man's museum, along 
 with the glossy ibis, and the bustard, shot close to 
 Hamworth. 
 
 Some newspaper man began an article stating that 
 the subject of his work was as extinct as the auk and 
 the ibis. What joy to write up to London and invite 
 him to see the ibis, at any rate. The auk was, and 
 is extinct, no doubt, in the larger size, though the little 
 auk is to be found; but the glossy ibis is very much 
 to the fore. He did not take advantage of our offer, 
 but inserted an ample apology in his paper, which had 
 a soul-thrilling effect in the town. 
 
 Hamworth was unknown and unvisited in those 
 days. Now all is altered, and there is not a stone that 
 has not its history, generally quite a wrong one, and 
 told by some one who has not the least idea of the 
 real facts. There are no old inhabitants now to pass 
 on oral traditions, all are dead and gone, and I often 
 catch scraps of talk from the new-comers, which tell 
 me how history is made, and how utterly unreliable is 
 the whole fabric. 
 
 I wonder if Claudia will care to keep the stories 
 that I have told her in her head, or if she, too, will 
 forget the olden days, the old folk who lived in the
 
 SEPTEMBER THE HARVEST MOON 249 
 
 Cottage before her, and the older days of which they, 
 too, often spoke to me long, long years ago? 
 
 I have been much alone this September, and I do 
 not mind one bit, for I know the autumn is coming, 
 and I shall once more have as much company as I 
 can desire. There is sadness about, too, as there 
 always is in autumn, for Beata is leaving us to go out 
 to India, and the children will be left to Claudia and 
 to me. 
 
 I do not care to undertake the matter, but, after all, 
 one can only do one's best, and should Beata return, 
 bringing her sheaves with her, in other words accom- 
 panied by her spouse, I shall be curious to see how 
 he conducts himself, how he takes his sudden increase 
 of family, and if he has learned to behave as a reason- 
 able human being should, or if he yet yearns after 
 Nirvana and the foolish superstitions of the Hindu 
 mind. 
 
 Beata is very sad and quiet all these happy, golden, 
 September days, and cannot have the children too 
 much with her. I wonder what has changed her so 
 much? She was content to leave Molly and Philip 
 for years in that hideous cottage, growing up anyhow, 
 fed anyhow, and clothed in the coarsest and plainest 
 of garments, now nothing is too good for the children, 
 one and all, and both Claudia and I interfere con- 
 tinually. After all, the children will be left here for 
 at least three months and perhaps more, and I, at any 
 rate, decline the task of looking after spoiled and 
 
 f
 
 250 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 over-fed children of any sort or kind. I believe in 
 leaving children much to themselves, and merely 
 standing by and watching what they do. They are 
 much happier making their own plays and playing 
 their own games : they should never have to take care 
 of their clothes, that is absurd; and we have dressed 
 Molly in serge knickerbockers and a jersey, just as 
 Philip has; a skirt can always be slipped on if 
 required, but let her learn to use her legs ! I see no 
 harm in those shapely members in their trim hose and 
 buckled shoes : while I can imagine much trouble in 
 an amount of belaced and white frills, of which she 
 has to take care. 
 
 I have always disliked dressed-up little girls; poor 
 little things, it is not their faults, of course, but the 
 child whose one idea is clothes becomes the fast, 
 expensive, foolish woman who spends all on her 
 back, and has boxes and bottles on her dressing- 
 table of all sorts and kinds of mess for her com- 
 plexion, when all she wants is plenty of hot soft water 
 and a true love for her own kind, and the free and 
 open air. 
 
 I know Beata has suffered immensely because she 
 dreads growing old, and seeing her complexion spoil 
 and her hair fade. Yet how foolish it all is, to be 
 sure. Her spouse is at least five years older than 
 she is, and will look at least ten after his Indian 
 experiences, I should say. Why should he expect her 
 always to remain young and bright and fair ? She had
 
 SEPTEMBER-THE HARVEST MOON 251 
 
 much better be herself; at any rate Molly shall not 
 be brought up in her way of thinking. 
 
 Talk of the advance of women ! How far has the 
 sex gone, I should like to know, when one sees the 
 dress of to-day, when one hears the absurd sums spent 
 on cosmetics, false hair and beauty culture, and when 
 one knows that the greater mass of the female sex 
 spends more than three-fourths of its time in dressing 
 and making up ? If women would alter their ways by 
 voting, give them a vote by all means, but I know 
 they would not alter one pin. They would vote, no 
 doubt, for the best-looking men, but I, for one, object 
 to petticoat government, and I trust that in my time, 
 at any rate, the vote will be still far off. 
 
 Claudia is inclined to take the opposite side, she 
 pays rates and taxes, yet she cannot romp off to the 
 poll. True ! but for those same rates and taxes she 
 forgets she has police protection, light, good roads, 
 and a hundred and one other things she would not 
 otherwise possess. Man manages matters badly 
 enough just at the moment, it is true, but would women 
 manage any better, and who is to look after the houses 
 and the children? Already these suffer badly from 
 the tendencies of the day, and the children decrease 
 in number every year one lives. On this matter I am 
 inclined to have an open mind. " Few and fit " is 
 an excellent motto, yet I am quite sure large families 
 brought each other up as no small family either could 
 or would, and though I know the Victorian Age is
 
 252 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 supposed to be an age of simpers, ringlets and faint- 
 ing fits, none of the mothers of that period ever 
 required a rest cure. 
 
 The only rest they ever had was after their children's 
 births, and even then they kept the reins of the house- 
 hold in their own hands; they grew old gracefully, 
 if at a much earlier age than they do now, but they 
 were their age, and would have looked on paint, 
 powder and false hair as wiles of the devil, in whom 
 they one and all steadfastly believed. 
 
 Perhaps I am inclined to take their part because I 
 am too lazy to be up and about, bedizened and be- 
 frilled, coloured and painted and dyed in my turn. 
 I do not know. I would rather sit under my mulberry- 
 tree, where the greedy birds are eating their fill, and 
 recollect, than go out and fight in the market-place 
 for recognition of any sort or kind. 
 
 I would rather Beata talked over her troubles about 
 her husband and children with me, than have similar 
 ones of my own, and I would rather Lucius confided 
 his love for Claudia to me than have a lover with 
 whom I, for one, should not know in the least how to 
 deal. 
 
 I believe that by now Claudia knows what is before 
 her as well as I do, and I furthermore believe that 
 the citadel has capitulated really, and that heredity 
 has gone by the board, though we do not see very 
 much of Lucius in this month of months. The wood 
 takes up all his time, he says, and besides that I know
 
 I 
 
 SEPTEMBER THE HARVEST MOON 253 
 
 all about the book. Of course at present this is an 
 important secret, and not as hard to keep as I feared, 
 for after all it is to come out in late autumn, as a 
 Christmas book. The great publisher believes in this 
 season, even if I do not. At any rate, the lovely 
 pictures will force people to look at it, nor can one 
 resist them, I feel sure, nor the many birds' and beasts' 
 stories with which the pages are rilled. 
 
 Lucius comes in now and again shyly, with his all- 
 important proof sheets, and I help him with them. 
 I remember with a laugh how I hurried to buy an early 
 copy of Vice-versa, because it was written by my 
 brother's friend, and because I wanted to do my best 
 to let the book be known. I need not have troubled, 
 before I had my copy half London had the book and 
 was laughing over it, when I received mine the rest 
 of England had joined in the hilarious shout. A 
 leading article in one of the papers I forget which 
 sold out the whole of the first edition. Reviews 
 were the most powerful advertisers in the early eighties 
 what will be the fate of Lucius' book, I wonder? 
 Surely its merits must be acknowledged at once, and 
 I have few fears on the subject, look at it how one will. 
 
 But Claudia is not to be shown it until the book 
 is a real thing, bound in fine leather for Claudia, with 
 a frontispiece and a dedication all her own. Only that 
 one copy is to have the dedication, and here I agree; 
 a dedication must be in these circumstances a very 
 sacred thing, and if the frontispiece be the garden
 
 254 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 where first they met, all the better, it will be their 
 secret always, if matters turn out as I most sincerely 
 trust that they will. 
 
 I am rather foolish, I think, to attempt match- 
 making, for my one or two attempts at it have ended 
 rather disastrously for myself, at any rate. How well 
 I recollect the first, when the attentions of a youth 
 made a maiden of the town so prominent that his 
 mother begged me to speak to him on the subject, 
 and in fact ask his intentions in the matter. I thought 
 this would come better from her, but she did not then 
 live in Hamworth, and the man used our house as 
 if it were his own. 
 
 He meant business, certainly, and they were married 
 with due pomp and ceremony. I think I saw the 
 happy couple once afterwards, they only lived a short 
 mile away, but they never spoke to me again. 
 
 It is a mystery I have never fathomed, but they 
 were both eccentric well, they are dead now, after a 
 happy married life, and they may recognize after all 
 that they owed that to me, for had I never spoken I 
 am quite sure the man never, never would. 
 
 Then I was confidante of another love affair : two 
 engagements at least did I foster and encourage in 
 every way I could : both were broken off, the first, 
 the real true attachment, was ended by the girl her- 
 self, for his relations were more than she could 
 swallow; the second, by the man, for he found he did 
 not love her truly, after all. 

 
 SEPTEMBER-THE HARVEST MOON 255 
 
 When he did really marry his bride "took a 
 scunner " against me : surely she did not think I had 
 a design on his young affections? he was some years 
 my junior I cannot tell; he has been married over 
 twenty-five years now, but I have never heard or seen 
 him since his wedding day. 
 
 Will this be my fate after Lucius and Claudia are 
 married ? Well, if so, I must e'en put up with it, and 
 recollect there have been other faithful souls with 
 whom I am friends, dear friends even down to the 
 present day. 
 
 Lucius was at the wood, immersed in business and 
 his book, and Beata and the children were out in the 
 field garden when Claudia came to me under the mul- 
 berry-tree and sat herself down. 
 
 " Now do I wish I were a man," said she laugh- 
 ingly, " for truly do I want to go and kill something ; 
 it is just the day for a long, long walk, and I should 
 love a gun and a brace of setters and one of the old 
 times at the farm, of which you have told me so 
 much." 
 
 " I never wanted to go out and shoot," I answered, 
 " and I could not have gone alone at any time, and 
 alack ! I am too venerable now-a-days to accompany 
 you, and Beata, as you know, is buried in grief at 
 parting from the children and will not stir an inch 
 away from their side. Shall we have out the car and 
 make for the wood and have some rabbiting, Claudia? 
 I know the little animals are making havoc in the
 
 256 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 banks, and you will like to see the ferrets work, and 
 hear the rabbits stamp a warning to each other as they 
 rush round their tunnels, and I dare say Lucius can 
 give us an hour or two this fine September day." 
 
 " Not the car : not Lucius," replied Claudia, " it's 
 a walk I want, and only one companion. Can't you 
 believe you are young once more and come as far as 
 our lane : you have but to put your boots on and make 
 up your mind, and we can watch the shooters among 
 the turnips, even if we may not join them, and 
 make believe we are of the party in the good old 
 style." 
 
 "Alas ! alas, that I cannot ! " I said; " but it is easy 
 to sit here and make believe. Listen, Claudia ! Across 
 the town, quite the other side, is a long, straight, 
 Roman road : we took it the day we went to Dor- 
 chester, and shook our fists at Judge Jeffreys' lodgings 
 in the hope his miserable ghost might be made the 
 more miserable for our act. Let us watch the road 
 fly past us : we are soon landed at the Manor Farm. 
 Ah, me ! How the ghosts troop out to greet us, to 
 be sure : my father, hale and strong, with his leggings 
 on and his gun on his shoulder, uncles and aunts and 
 all on the doorstep, and the dear dogs waiting the 
 signal to set off, they must exist somewhere still, 
 they live so vividly in my mind ! Even the heavy, 
 cut wine-glasses and decanters exist, I know, in 
 another household : what has become of all the hostess' 
 wondrous decoctions? Sloe gin, black-currant gin,
 
 SEPTEMBER THE HARVEST MOON 257 
 
 raspberry brandy, cordials all, and warranted to stave 
 off the damp and cold, though the day is all blue and 
 gold, and as hot as summer all too often is not. 
 
 " I am left behind and I sigh deeply. Of course, I 
 have a book, but my hostess scorns books and thinks 
 some needlework should become me better. But she 
 has the dinner to see to, the maids to harry, the 
 gorgeous waiter from the town to placate and instruct 
 in his duties towards my father, who is the guest, and 
 before whom all the rest are supposed to tremble. 
 
 " What a charming house and garden those were, to 
 be sure ! I never saw flowers grow as hers did, por- 
 tulaca, much neglected now-a-days, glowed" as some 
 jeweller's window in the sun; peppermint and verbena- 
 scented geranium flourished, and the old-fashioned 
 pelargoniums one never sees now, with many-coloured 
 faces, almost as full of expression as pansies, but 
 which have disappeared before the new, vivid, over- 
 coloured specimens we only meet. 
 
 " There was food enough on the table later to feed 
 an army ! but then the simple luncheon had been 
 bread and cheese and beer and apples only, so no 
 wonder the dinner was welcomed, though it was soon 
 after six, but we had a long drive back, and it would 
 not do to be later than that. 
 
 " No car then, Claudia, only my scuttling little ponies 
 and the low old carriage one meets now and again 
 taking out some very timorous dame. Poor old car- 
 riage, how fond I was of it at first, and oh ! poor old
 
 258 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 lady ! No doubt she had seen it in its best days too, 
 and never thought to drive in such a luxurious con- 
 veyance, for things and people change, Claudia, and 
 I really do not care one bit. Each day, each genera- 
 tion has its own merits : and if I look back and recol- 
 lect, 'tis only because you ask me and care to hear 
 what all was like in the days that can never come any 
 more." 
 
 Claudia was in her pet attitude on her low chair by 
 my side, and she took my hand in hers and twisted 
 my rings round in the manner she always does when 
 she is perplexed. 
 
 " I wonder if I shall look back as you do," she said 
 at last, "and yet it appears to me that if I do my 
 remembrances will not be of the smallest interest to 
 one single soul." 
 
 " You must choose your pictures with care," I 
 replied; "there are some you have drawn a veil over 
 and forgotten, and there are others into which you 
 will not look. Do you not think you will be wiser to 
 forgive your mother's people and visit her birthplace, 
 once, at any rate? They have asked you, have they 
 not?, And there perhaps you would find out more 
 about her than you know now." 
 
 ' There is only one person left out of the whole 
 family, and she is blind and half-mad," said Claudia, 
 " and, indeed, in any case I could not go to my 
 mother's old home. I fear sometimes it may come 
 to me, and oh ! if it did, what should I do? I would
 
 SEPTEMBER THE HARVEST MOON 259 
 
 not live there for millions, it is up in the cold, un- 
 friendly North, and yet I could not sell it." 
 
 " Let it, then," I said cautiously, " the useful, un- 
 pleasant millionaire, whether he hails from America 
 or South Africa, is always with us, but East End 
 Cottage is small, and were you rich I think you would 
 want a richer, larger home." 
 
 " I have dreams of such an one, but closer closer 
 to Hamworth," said Claudia ; " it shall be of your pet 
 grey stone, and roofed in with the thin ragstone that 
 grows more beautiful with the years as the weather 
 colours it and the stone crop gives it a new life all its 
 own. All the woodwork shall be polished, and the 
 bolts and bars shall be worked by hand, of strong, 
 good iron : I mean to have a real house some day, not 
 a jerry-built horror, resembling the thousands that 
 have disfigured the country-side for miles round any 
 one of our big towns." 
 
 " I know of such a house now," I said with pride, 
 " and were I able I would take you there now, it stands 
 'foursquare to all the winds that blow/ It has 
 but one fault, it is new, and neither has traditions nor 
 history; no kindly ghosts walk about the halls or sit 
 round the hearth-place ; it will take at least a hundred 
 years to turn that house into a real home. Now-a-days 
 one must take an old house, else is it empty, swept 
 and garnished, and in our time at least it can never 
 be filled." 
 
 " I am not sure that I want ghosts," said Claudia,
 
 260 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 laughing. " I would rather fill my house with the soul 
 of the present, if I dare, with laughing children and 
 with none of the terror of an overweighting past. 
 Besides, I want baths electric light and wide windows 
 where will one find them in an old house, I wonder? 
 and if one puts in modern improvements ten to one 
 the house has its revenge. An old beam is forgotten, 
 or something is overlooked and hey presto ! the house 
 goes up in smoke and flames, and that is the end of 
 the whole matter." 
 
 I have to agree with Claudia, for much as I love old 
 traditions and the particular spirits that ever haunt 
 their rooms, I love modern conveniences more. Who 
 would go back, for instance, to the dreary days of 
 candles, which had to be snuffed periodically ? I had 
 a pair of silver snuffers on an ancient tray that was 
 used within the memory of living man : what dull 
 evenings does the sight conjure up, to be sure ! Even- 
 ings when the mother sewed and the children clustered 
 together learning the morrow's lesson, and the father 
 of the family, bored to death, either slept peacefully 
 in his great leather chair or wandered down to the 
 reading-room, where no one ever read, or looked in 
 at the Bear or Lion, to gather any gossip that might 
 be going about the town. Then came colza lamps, 
 with their dim, uncertain light, the perpetual fidget- 
 ing, dropping of the oil and the gurgling, gasping 
 groans when they were wound up. Then town gas 
 succeeded them, and how I suffered from that. I vow
 
 SEPTEMBER THE HARVEST MOON 261 
 
 on Sundays it all went religiously to church and 
 chapel, for the little we could have indoors was not 
 enough to read by, and once more lamps had to be 
 used. But then these were of the duplex order, and 
 gave a real illumination, while now here is the electric 
 light, the best light in the world, and at any rate I am 
 glad to have lived to see and have the benefit of that. 
 
 How much, much happier I should have been in 
 the country in my early days had I had that and the 
 telephone, and the cheap books and newspapers we 
 have now. I tell Claudia of the arid waste that 
 existed between the box returning to and the box 
 coming back from Mudie's, when all novels were in 
 three volumes, and no longer, really, than they are now 
 in one, and when the idea of a good book at seven- 
 pence would have been smiled kindly out of court. 
 No, I do not want to go back : I do want to see what 
 will happen in this new century of ours, which is just 
 in its "teens," and I trust I may be allowed a peep- 
 hole, either as a rose that remembers, or a sentient 
 being that can see from somewhere what is going on. 
 
 I would change with Peter if I could, and yet keep 
 the knowledge I possess : but I would not be Peter 
 without that. Even Claudia has quicksands before 
 her into which she may flounder, and as for Beata, I 
 would not be in her shoes for all the world. But I 
 should love to see India and have the voyage, but 
 not to find Beata's husband at the end. After all, I 
 am best off as I am, and as long as my memory keeps
 
 262 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 green and my senses do not play me false I have little 
 reason to complain. But I tremble when I recollect 
 what one may be in fifteen or twenty years, if one lasts 
 as long : for have I not seen decay come to many 
 bright and charming people, who were once the delight 
 of the multitude? Deafness, failure of memory, 
 paralysis oh ! let us change the subject : time enough 
 to trouble when one feels these horrors are on the way : 
 then why should we not choose our own moment to 
 end it all? Perhaps by then Science will let us out 
 calmly and silently, and in that hope one can look 
 forward to autumn, the departure of the swallow (the 
 swifts left us ifi August, as usual), and the falling of 
 the leaf !
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 OCTOBER THE HUNTER'S MOON 
 
 BEATA has been gone now many weeks, and we have 
 settled in with the governess for the older children 
 and the nice young Norland nurse for Peter. 
 
 I am amused mightily by the governess of the 
 period, for she is as much a new and valuable product 
 as is ever the electric light ! 
 
 Turn up your Jane Eyre, or indeed any book that 
 touches on the subject, and you will soon see what I 
 mean. Now Jane Smallpage takes us in hand, scours 
 the country with Molly and Philip, routs them out of 
 bed at dawn and into bed at dusk, insists on games 
 of all sorts and kinds, and makes lessons even more 
 play than Claudia and I had done from the very first. 
 
 Even her hideous cognomen does not daunt her, 
 and she declared she loved the name of Jane : 
 "sensible, short and to the point," says she, and I 
 fancy that she would like Molly to become Mary, but 
 that she cannot do. In the first place the child has 
 never been called anything else, and in the second I 
 do not believe she has ever been christened, though 
 how she escaped that and the usual registration of 
 birth I have not the least idea. For Claudia, Beata 
 
 and Lucius, Jane has the most profound contempt, as 
 
 263
 
 264 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 regards their names I mean, but finding they cannot 
 help them, poor things, she shrugs her shoulders and 
 takes them one and all in the day's work, falling back 
 on their surnames and the formal Miss, Mrs. and 
 Mr. we one and all had forgotten we possessed. 
 
 I have always carefully concealed my Christian 
 names all through my life, and I am not going to 
 give them away now even to placate Jane. She calls 
 me " my lady " with a quizzical lift of her eyebrows, 
 which reminds me of my old enemies in Hamworth, 
 who used to speak of me as " Royalty " because I had 
 not shown any desire to cultivate their acquaintance. 
 I have no right to Jane's title, of course, but it pleases 
 her and hurts no one, and Claudia and the children 
 catch it up, and so a nickname is mine again after 
 several long and weary years. 
 
 Is there anything that Jane does not know, I 
 wonder? and I watch her and listen to her with amaze. 
 
 Swedish exercises, the right way to breathe, the right 
 food, the right way to stand, sit and lie are all at her 
 finger-ends, and when I laugh at her and tell her she 
 is a crank, she suggests that if she had brought me up 
 I should still have been walking my twelve miles a 
 day, and that a sofa and I should have nothing in 
 common for at least fifteen more years. 
 
 I am inclined to believe she is quite right and I do 
 not interfere, for I have far too vivid a recollection 
 of my unhappy schoolroom days to say her nay. Our 
 governess spent most of her days, her skirt folded back
 
 OCTOBER THE HUNTER'S MOON 265 
 
 on her knees to protect it from the fire, close beside 
 which she huddled while a shawl lay round her 
 shoulders : doors and windows were almost hermetic- 
 ally sealed, and one never lost the scent of mutton and 
 cabbage out of that room as long as she held sway. 
 
 She could teach; all I know she crammed into me 
 vigorously before I was thirteen, and then she left; 
 but though she had undermined our health she had 
 taught me the love of books and the desire for know- 
 ledge that has kept me going when otherwise I must 
 have gone desperately out. 
 
 Jane has piles and piles of little handbooks and 
 facts neatly tabulated, and here I am inclined to 
 quarrel with her : she is divided into " Periods," and 
 should one require to know something that overlaps, 
 Jane says she has not got up that special Period yet, 
 and somewhat airily dismisses the matter as one that 
 can wait quite well. 
 
 Now I, even at the present late hour, hunt at once 
 for all I want to know, and we are at odds too on the 
 subject of what she calls "exams." I do not believe 
 in them even when called examinations, and I can 
 floor most young people who have passed in flying 
 colours for the ordinary Oxford and Cambridge after 
 a month or two has gone by. 
 
 They are crammed as are Strasburg geese for the 
 examination; that once passed, good-bye to the text- 
 books and primers until it is time to take up another 
 of the idiotic things.
 
 266 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 Jane was most anxious to know when she first came 
 what Molly and Philip meant to be; and she was 
 rather aggrieved when she discovered that neither 
 would be obliged to enter the overcrowded labour 
 market and fight for their bread. 
 
 I consoled her a little by saying that we hoped the 
 children would look life very straight in the face and 
 learn how best to administer their share of this world's 
 goods, while Molly declared that while nothing would 
 induce her to be bothered with a husband, she intended 
 to have fifty children at least and make them all good 
 and happy, and Philip on his seventh birthday an- 
 nounced that he was going in for science. 
 
 I do not think he had the least idea what he meant, 
 but he had heard Lucius say how much he wished he 
 had had a scientific education and so could go in for 
 research. 
 
 He did not want to treat sick people, but to prevent 
 their being ill at all, and Philip declared that that was 
 what he would do; and if he found he could not, he 
 would hand Lucius his money and take over the 
 wood. After all he loved birds as did Lucius, at any 
 rate he was not going to waste his life, of that he was 
 very sure. 
 
 Jane pondere'd deeply over the subject of public 
 schools, at which with her fine new theories she was 
 inclined to scoff, but this I stopped at once. I, too, 
 had had theories in my early days, but I had seen 
 the result. " Leave the public schools alone," said
 
 OCTOBER THE HUNTER'S MOON 207 
 
 I. "No other system or country turns out the men 
 they do, and I do not believe they can be bettered, 
 at any rate, Philip will go to one as soon as he is old 
 enough, and to a preparatory school when he is ten. 
 You have three years before you, my dear Jane : do 
 your worst or your best in those, to Harrow he goes, 
 or we shall all know the reason why." 
 
 Jane laughed out her delightful laugh, and her free- 
 and-easy assumption that she is part of the family 
 are great assets as far as I am concerned, and she 
 never troubles me or bores me for one moment. 
 
 In my time resident governesses were a species of 
 moral mustard plasters. I was always wondering if 
 they were happy or not, or well, or sad, or home-sick, 
 or if I ought to let them out more alone, and even 
 take some of the lessons off their hands, but Jane 
 never troubles me at all. Bored, not she ! The 
 children once in bed, are there not letters to write, 
 books to read, even garments to make and mend? 
 The higher education has not made her despise needle- 
 craft, and she demurely suggests that I should be 
 happier if I would only sew. 
 
 No doubt I should, but then I never could : my 
 needles rusted and my thread broke or twisted, and 
 I was bored beyond endurance by the habit, but I 
 confess Jane scores off me there. When she sings 
 and sews, and sometimes even rocks her chair on the 
 tiled floor of the open-air schoolroom, I love her really, 
 while I would give worlds if my long-dead grand-
 
 268 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 mother could see her, and know what the governess 
 of the day can really be ! Ours used to tremble 
 before her and listen humbly to her wordy words of 
 wisdom, which flowed on for ever, of which we none 
 of us took the least notice, except to scoff aloud. 
 
 Jane would laugh too, but then she would make 
 Grandmamma laugh, or perhaps only smile. I know 
 the grim old dame would have loved her if she could 
 have loved any one, that is to say, but she found loving 
 a great difficulty, a trait she has unfortunately handed 
 on to many of her descendants up to the present day. 
 Indeed I am always surprised to find how much love 
 I can give Claudia, the children and Jane, and even 
 Beata, though I own candidly I do not understand 
 Beata as well as I could wish, and that I dread her 
 return with her tiresome spouse more than I can 
 say. 
 
 " But do not cross the bridge until you reach it," 
 says Jane, when I mention that I am not sure what 
 Mr. Franklin may do or say on his return, and I take 
 her advice with trembling. I do not want the children 
 interfered with, or fed on nuts, or raised on Christian 
 Science or any nonsense of the kind. I don't want 
 them to think of their bodies at all, that is Jane's busi- 
 ness and mine and Claudia's; let them forget their 
 mortal envelope and develop their minds as much as 
 ever they can. Jane, too, will have no silly nonsense 
 of putting children off with fables should they ask an 
 untoward question : she can be grave and stern when
 
 OCTOBER THE HUNTER'S MOON 269 
 
 she likes, and, moreover, is a great believer in the 
 secrets Nature can tell quite openly and unashamedly. 
 
 I am dumbfounded when I recollect I was married 
 before I knew that plants were male and female, and 
 that bees fertilized plants, and that humble-bees were 
 necessary if one required clover to grow, for they alone 
 have the long proboscis that can enter far enough into 
 the clover to fertilize it. All things are decent and 
 understandable when Nature teaches. Curiosity is 
 evil, knowledge never is, and Jane handles subjects 
 deftly we should have turned and fled before shrink- 
 ing and dismayed. There is nothing whatever of the 
 suffragette about Jane, for she knows as well as I 
 do that a woman has her own work to do in the world, 
 and a man has a man's. " We can both work together," 
 she says gaily. " I am not going to pull away from 
 the pole, if ever I go in double harness, but shall take 
 my share of the work. As to a vote, pah ! I don't 
 want to be kow-towed to at election times and driven 
 in style to the poll, and then forgotten until the next 
 election comes round : I get my police protection, my 
 lighting and my paving and all the rest of it as you 
 do, my lady, and we are content. No market-place 
 fighting for me. Why, we women have the best end 
 of the stick all the time. Who is accountable for 
 our debts, our libels, our troubles? Why, the man: 
 long let him be responsible, say I. I don't want any 
 more rights than I have now, of that I am very sure." 
 
 "How about better pay and sweating and so on?" 
 I asked.
 
 270 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 " I'm paid all I am worth, I know that," said Jane, 
 " and as for sweating, why, if women chose they could 
 end that now if they only would; but who buys the 
 cheap things? First the Government and then the 
 women. They clamour for cheapness, and indeed I 
 do too ; think of our match-boxes ! " 
 
 " I get mine from Norway," I interrupted, " and I 
 trust I always shall. I recollect when a match-box 
 was a matter of moment, when one had to make spills 
 and keep them ready for action on every mantelpiece. 
 Oh, Jane, we hear no end about food taxes, but no 
 one calls out to remind us of what it would cost to 
 live if the bad old times came back. Food in some 
 mysterious way is three times as dear now as it was 
 forty years ago, but the ordinary things we use are 
 dirt cheap, otherwise we should all be in the work- 
 house, of that I am very sure." 
 
 We were going on with our discussion when a wild 
 shriek from Philip broke into our talk. Of course, 
 he had fallen and cut his stupid little head open, and 
 I was for telephoning for Dr. Paul, but our excellent 
 Jane was not a modern governess for nothing. First 
 aid, and indeed second aid for the matter of that, was 
 at her finger-ends; a liberal stream of cold water 
 first and then hygienic sticking-plaster. I am a fool 
 when an accident occurs, especially when gore 
 abounds, but I could not help watching and even 
 assisting Jane. 
 
 I marvelled to see the wound cleansed and drawn
 
 OCTOBER-THE HUNTER'S MOON 271 
 
 together, and the child soothed and then sent to sleep 
 in the sweet, clear October air, while Molly looked 
 sympathetic and begged a little of the plaster to 
 mend a dolly to which she was most profoundly 
 attached. 
 
 " I shall take his temperature later," said Jane, as 
 she put the great boy into the hammock; "if that is 
 normal, no need for a doctor : if it be over ninety- 
 eight, then we may want Dr. Paul, but I doubt it." 
 
 I thought of the wild hurry and scurry that would 
 have happened in my time had such a catastrophe 
 occurred, the search for Dr. Paul, the yells of the 
 children, all alike frightened by the sight of blood, 
 and was thankful that such days could come no 
 more. 
 
 Molly and I went down toward the river to see if 
 we could find any sign of Claudia, and I warned the 
 nurse to keep Peter away from the schoolroom. 
 Peace settled down over the garden, and I began to 
 think of all October meant and could mean, for the 
 real country lover, at least. Personally I used to love 
 October in London, when we returned from the seaside 
 and took our walks in the " Gardens," when the shell 
 gravel was newly laid and we found heaps of shining 
 chestnuts freed from their husks : later on how jovial 
 it was to meet all one's cronies fresh from their 
 summer holidays, the " little season " we used to call 
 the time between October and Christmas Day, when 
 delightful dinner-parties were informally given : new
 
 272 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 plays came out, and we heard all about the new books 
 and pictures coming rapidly to birth after the rest in 
 the country or by the sea. There was room for us all 
 then, there was no pushing and crowding. Board- 
 school boys and girls had not begun to write smart 
 stories and newspaper paragraphs, young men had not 
 become crazed over what I call "measured art"; it 
 was a good time, of that I am quite sure, though I 
 confess unwillingly that for the masses at any rate the 
 present is far, far better. 
 
 Molly is not pleased with me when I go back 
 mentally into the past, for then she considers me an 
 extremely dull companion, and does not hesitate in 
 the least to tell me so. 
 
 " Thinking's horrid," she says calmly, " and I want 
 to find Claudia. She is not near the river, is she? 
 Can't we go down the lane and look for her? for it's 
 long past her hour, you know, and soon it will be 
 getting dark." 
 
 I own myself a little anxious about Claudia too, she 
 has been distraite, absent, indeed " thinkings " too 
 have occupied her, and I shrewdly suspect she and 
 Lucius have come to some mutual understanding. She 
 knows of his book, of course, we could not keep that 
 secret from her, and she knows, too, how busy that 
 has made him. Just at the minute Nature studies 
 were very much in request, and the publisher was in 
 a hurry to be first in the market with this special 
 volume. But until Claudia speaks I shall wait, I will
 
 OCTOBER-THE HUNTER'S MOON 273 
 
 not touch the delicate bloom of her first love even with 
 the tip of my smallest finger. 
 
 I often feel now as if I had reversed one of Nature's 
 most wonderful processes, and having been born a 
 butterfly am at present a chrysalis in the heart of a 
 golden soft cocoon. I shall never emerge from that 
 any more, for my butterfly days are long since over 
 and done with, but it is not at all an unpleasant situa- 
 tion. I am safe in the golden midst of love, and 
 nothing is expected of me, save sympathy and what 
 help I can still give, and I would rather remain a 
 chrysalis than emerge any more into the garish light 
 of day and become a butterfly again. 
 
 There is no sign of Claudia in the lane, and Molly 
 and I return to the garden, where it appears to me 
 that our flowers are at their very best. It has been a 
 golden autumn this special year, and there hals been 
 no drastic heat to dry up the grass and the foliage 
 and cause the roses to die untimely on their stems. 
 Of course, at any moment we may expect a frost, but 
 at the same time we do not clear up the plants too 
 early in the bad old way. Yet I have anxiously 
 watched McCrae and my own young gardener walk- 
 ing round about the place, and have noted that Hobbs 
 is listening with more than usual care to the old 
 man's instructions. 
 
 McCrae is of the old school in everything save 
 where gardening is concerned, and there he is much 
 in advance of the day. Had my own venerable tyrant
 
 274 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 still ruled in my garden I know quite well what would 
 have happened ; he would have looked up at the moon, 
 now rapidly approaching the full, and declared that 
 during the night a frost might sweep the garden and 
 that he must make his plants safe for the winter. All 
 the bedding stuff would have been raked up and put 
 away, and the beds left resembling so many new-made 
 graves ; everything that could be pruned and cut would 
 have been pruned wellnigh to death, and I even once 
 caught him sweeping down the gloriously coloured 
 autumn leaves of the Virginian creeper. 
 
 " Time all that muck was done with," he muttered 
 gloomily, "it's sweep, sweep, sweep from morning to 
 night," and he went away before my reproaches cast- 
 ing evil eyes at his enemy the ilex, which always shed 
 its leaves when every other self-respecting tree was 
 busily coming into what he would call " blowth." He 
 had a perfect rage for tidiness, that man. No rose 
 dared to stray, no flower to creep away from its sup- 
 port. I often wondered how he would have endured 
 the many Ramblers and Penzance briers of to-day in 
 a garden. Hedge stuff he would have called them, I 
 am sure ; even a clematis drove him wild ; and I only 
 saved the charming Banksia roses, now seldom seen, 
 because his first mistress had planted and loved them, 
 and though he more than once tried to prune them 
 viciously I always managed to stay his hand by a 
 whisper of her name. 
 
 I trust he may be given a garden in Paradise, for
 
 OCTOBER-THE HUNTER'S MOON 275 
 
 the love he had for flowers was his one redeeming 
 trait. No, not his only one, for he was also the most 
 faithful servant who ever lived, of that I am sure. 
 But he drank as a fish is supposed to do, ill-treated 
 his patient and charming wife, and finally lived on 
 her hard work, for he became incapable of gardening, 
 and so she had to be the bread-winner. 
 
 Poor soul ! she died at her post and left him 
 stranded : the last I heard was that his daughter took 
 him to live with her, and pocketed his old age pension 
 for his keep. He must have been dead a year or more, 
 and I am glad to think he was not allowed to spend 
 his last days in the spirituous stupor in which he did 
 so much work at one time for us. 
 
 McCrae tells me that Claudia has had foreign 
 letters, and that that is what is keeping her. How 
 foolish of me ! I ought to have known it was mail 
 day, and that probably letters will be in the hall for 
 us. Molly runs on ahead and announces the fact, and 
 I go in. Here are at least half-a-dozen of different 
 sorts and kinds, and one with a double set of Indian 
 stamps for the immaculate Jane. 
 
 She is very silent always about her own people, and 
 I do not like to ask questions. I always want to hear 
 what folk may tell me, but ask questions I never, never 
 will. I have had far too many asked me when I least 
 wished for them, to fall into a like error on my own 
 side. 
 
 But as I was sorting the mail Jane came in.
 
 276 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 " Philip is quite all right," she said, " but he is 
 better quiet to-day. Is there a letter for me, my 
 lady? I know the Indian mail should now be in." 
 
 I handed her the stout epistle with, I fear, a rather 
 quizzical smile. Jane looked me straight in the face. 
 
 " Perhaps I ought to have told you," she said 
 gravely, " but it is so far off that I did not think it 
 necessary. I am engaged to be married some day, 
 but he is in India now, and I don't in the least know 
 when if ever we shall be able to marry and settle 
 down, and I can assure you it does not interfere with 
 my duties, for day dreaming is not at all in my line, 
 or indeed in his, if it comes to that." 
 
 Oh, immaculate, candid, calm and up-to-date Jane ! 
 Not a blush, not a tremor, and I have no compunction 
 in asking her who he is and what he is about in that 
 far-distant land. 
 
 A college friend both of her own and her brother's, 
 and at the moment fully occupied as English tutor 
 to an Indian prince, whose father was educated in 
 England, but has sufficient sense to keep his son at 
 home, and while admiring English modes of education, 
 knows that England itself is a cruel tutor for a lad 
 who must reign and live in a different clime and among 
 different folk. Jane talked of all this and of the large 
 salary received, and then disclosed that some day he 
 and she hoped to have a house in one of our own 
 public schools. She would mother the lads and look 
 after them and their garments and their health, as no
 
 OCTOBER-THE HUNTER'S MOON 277 
 
 matron ever Hid or could, while, of course, he would 
 be a model master. 
 
 Recollecting how often odd boots, some one else's 
 socks or dressing-gowns came home, or unmarked 
 garments and torn raiment of all sorts and kinds, I 
 think Jane has a future before her. The masters' 
 wives generally leave these matters to the matron, as 
 the food was also left : matters may have improved 
 since my last link with Harrow was broken, but how 
 bad the food was then, to be sure ! and had we not 
 supplemented it the boys would often have been 
 hungry. There is ample room for improvement at all 
 public schools, I hear, but then is there not in most 
 kitchens? It is a wide subject, and one I do not feel 
 inclined to enter on at the moment, at any rate; for 
 I had letters to read too, and despite Jane's calmness 
 I felt sure she must wish to read the latest news from 
 her " young man " a vulgar description, which I feel 
 sure could never have been hers at any time. 
 
 There were charming post cards from Beata for the 
 children and a long letter for me, and I was just 
 ending it when Claudia walked in. 
 
 Molly flew to her and told her all about Philip's 
 " drefful accident," and then Peter came walking in ; 
 he had his card tucked under his arm, and begged 
 at once for pencil and paper. 
 
 Of course, he meant to set to work to copy it, so 
 I knew he was disposed of until he was fetched for 
 bed, but Molly was another matter. Jane, Philip and
 
 278 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 Jane's letter were best alone, and we had to put up 
 with Molly as best we might until Claudia found her 
 some work to do, helping Hobbs in the garden, and 
 at last we two were left to ourselves to compare our 
 letters and talk over things generally. 
 
 Then I saw at once she was troubled, and waited 
 for her confidence. 
 
 " I am horribly rich," at last she said quietly, " and 
 I am most unhappy. I don't know what I ought to 
 do : I only know what I will not do, and that is leave 
 Hamworth and go and live in the dark, cold and un- 
 happy north." 
 
 My heart gave a great leap : if Claudia left Ham- 
 worth I should go once more back into the haunted 
 past I had in a manner escaped from, and this time, 
 being so many years to the bad, I felt the return would 
 kill me at once. 
 
 " What has happened ? " I asked, when my voice 
 was steady enough to speak. 
 
 " The last of my mother's people has gone and all 
 conies to me," she replied ; " the lawyers have written. 
 I have pictures and silver and jewellery, and worst 
 of all coal-mines and that great awful house amongst 
 all the blackness. Live there I cannot, and the 
 country has been murdered by those who found the 
 coal ; they may have the house and money ; I, for one, 
 neither want nor care for either." 
 
 I thought rapidly. For years and years the old 
 people had vegetated amongst the coal, and their
 
 OCTOBER-THE HUNTER'S MOON 279 
 
 treasure-house had been closed to all save themselves. 
 Coals must be had. I knew those mines were well 
 worked and the miners well paid, even the pit ponies 
 were specially looked after. The family prided it- 
 self, down to the last poor old crippled member, on 
 doing his or her duty to whatever was under his or 
 her charge. 
 
 Except in the case of Claudia's mother, no one had 
 ever suffered from them, to my knowledge. Ought 
 Claudia to free herself from all the family traditions 
 and stay away from the cradle of her race? She, as 
 usual, knew what was passing in my mind. 
 
 " I owe them nothing," she said angrily ; " as well 
 expect me to go and live among the Gresleys, wherever 
 they may be ! I don't know where they are, and I 
 don't care : most likely in some stable-yard or driving 
 motor omnibuses in London : they are as much my 
 people, after all, as these others. You must find me 
 a way out, dear friend, for live in that hideous place 
 I will not, neither will I spend all their money on 
 myself." 
 
 ' There are many ways out," I replied calmly, " but 
 there will be none if you are cross with me. You say 
 the place is hideous, and indeed I know it is, but why 
 not keep up the house as a home of refuge for the 
 sick and tired folk of your black country? A little 
 common sense, some careful thinking, and the old 
 house may be a refuge in distress, a very present help 
 in trouble."
 
 280 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 " I am not going to help the miners," she said ; 
 " they are amply paid, well housed and looked after." 
 
 " I do not suggest you should give them money," 
 I replied, " but I do suggest you should keep up both 
 house and garden so that they may have something 
 beautiful always before them. You can insist on the 
 dear ponies, for example, being emancipated, and you 
 can put machines in the mines that will do their work 
 as they have in America, and, most important of all, 
 you must find a curator and his wife for the house. 
 At first I have no doubt the miners will scoff at your 
 pictures, but let the women and children know they 
 can rest in the gardens and go through the galleries, 
 and later on I should suggest even more. A home 
 hospital, where little children should come into a clean, 
 white world, where women for three weeks of their 
 lives should have rest, quiet and good food, while 
 their homes should be in the care of sober matrons. 
 You have a good deal to think out, Claudia; but if 
 you do this you will, at any rate, bring into being a 
 dream of mine, which has haunted me from my very 
 earliest days." 
 
 " Tell me about your dream," said Claudia, clasp- 
 ing her long, beautiful hands round her knee and 
 gazing into the pine-cone fire, to keep which going was 
 the children's dearest joy. 
 
 I laughed. " You will think me cracked," I said, 
 "but I have always expected some unknown creature 
 to die and leave me a fortune : why, I cannot say.
 
 OCTOBER THE HUNTER'S MOON 281 
 
 I have no unknown uncles and cousins or brothers 
 who can be making fortunes in the colonies and will 
 die leaving all to me, and no one has ever left me 
 one silver sixpence since the day I was born, and I 
 am most positive now no one ever will. But ever 
 since I can remember, I have never gone for a week 
 or left home for any time without expecting to find 
 a nice letter from some unknown lawyer telling me 
 of my good luck. Then I should first travel round 
 the world, and then settle down in some clean, sweet 
 spot and keep house for the faint and weary folk for 
 whom nothing is ever done. No not for the deserv- 
 ing or undeserving poor. I can assure you I don't 
 care one bit about them but I do care for the young 
 girls who have never had a pretty frock or a good 
 time, and for the lads who want a leg-up, and above 
 all do I care for the old folk, tired of work, and pining 
 for rest in clean and beautiful surroundings. I have 
 seen such genteel poverty and squalor in my time, 
 Claudia, my heart goes out much more to those who 
 have had and lost, than to those who have never had 
 a good time, and care more for mere animal pleasures 
 than beauty and peace." 
 
 ' There is not much peace round Tronton now," 
 interrupted Claudia, " and the dirt is hideous ; the 
 smoke and grime will spoil the pictures too. Indeed, 
 I do not know what is best to do. But one thing I 
 do know," she added vehemently, " I will not live in 
 the hateful place. If I could buy my dear cottage 

 
 282 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 here, I could build on an annexe for the pictures and 
 silver, and then we could think about the rest. I do 
 not believe there is a bird in Tronton, or a creature 
 of any sort or kind, even the pheasants and partridges 
 and rabbits were exterminated by the poachers, and 
 oh ! the hideous, hideous country ! Hamworth spoils 
 one for the north, at least such north as that, anH I 
 could never bear the long, awful winters with their 
 deep snow, and the utter hopelessness of it all makes 
 me ill to even think about." 
 
 " I recollect one time in Northumberland," I said, 
 " which could not be beaten even in the south. I once 
 stayed in a most hideous house for two or three nights, 
 which in itself was a nightmare, but the moment one 
 got outside the Manor one forgot that. There was a 
 vast blue stretch of country, clumps of great, beautiful 
 trees, and presently the hunt passed in full cry. The 
 red coats of the men gleamed in the grey atmosphere, 
 and one might have been in the heart of the wilds, 
 yet Newcastle, the ugliest place I ever beheld, was 
 not thirty miles away, and I still keep the picture 
 of that hunt in my gallery, and I do not think it one 
 of the worst. There were small, clear, brawling 
 streams, too. You must not condemn all the north, 
 Claudia, though I confess I would not live there for 
 anything. Not even for that fortune I am always 
 expecting and that never comes." 
 
 '* The house was hideous, you say ? " asked Claudia. 
 "Why?."
 
 OCTOBER THE HUNTER'S MOON 283 
 
 ' The owner was the first who had made money, and 
 that, too, out of coal, and his idea of a house was a 
 species of glorified suburban villa," I answered. " It 
 was ghastly, and the poor man had been exploited by 
 some wretch in the shape of a picture-dealer, and had 
 been made to buy his pictures mostly, I should say, 
 by the yard. Both men have been dead for years and 
 years, and a very good thing too, but I often wonder 
 what has become of those dreadful "works of art." 
 My opinion was asked and I gave it, and it was 
 received with polite incredulity, but I advised expert 
 evidence. This coincided with mine, of course, for 
 among the gems were specimens of my father's work 
 which he had never seen, and others I knew had been 
 turned out by some enterprising forger, but I never 
 learned what really happened to them." 
 
 " At any rate, my house is old and my pictures are 
 good," said Claudia. " My people, or rather I should 
 say my mother's people, have all the receipts from 
 the artists, and the house goes back to some time in 
 1500, I forget the exact date. I will think over all 
 you say, but on one thing I am determined I will 
 not leave Hamworth and you and the children." 
 
 " And the wood ? " I interrupted slyly. 
 
 "And the wood," repeated Claudia. "And here I 
 have still another idea; there is a great park round 
 Tronton out of which no one has ever kept the 
 poachers; perhaps if we turn the miners into keepers 
 under a head man we may make a sanctuary there too."
 
 284 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 " We must find a second Lucius for that," I replied. 
 
 Claudia flushed deeply. " If that is possible," she 
 said in a low voice. 
 
 At that moment Molly came in and ordered us out 
 to look at the garden, and to ask us if she could sit up 
 to see the full moon over the river and the water 
 meadows. Hobbs had told her that when the hunter's 
 moon was full all the fairy huntsmen came out and 
 warned the creatures they loved of what would be 
 agate. The foxes were to hide their cubs, the 
 pheasants were to lie low, and the wild-fowl were to 
 seek the harbour. 
 
 " One can see the fairies then quite plainly," she 
 said, " and Hobbs has seen the brownies ; they were all 
 dressed in brown skin-tight dresses and red hoods. 
 Oh, I must see them, must I not? " and she clasped her 
 hands and looked longingly at us both. 
 
 "What has Hobbs been planting out?" asked 
 Claudia, " and have the brownies helped him ? " 
 
 " Wallflowers and polyanthus and arabis, so that the 
 bulbs shall come up between," answered Molly. " We 
 put the bulbs safely to bed, and they will all rush up 
 in the spring and bow and thank us. Hobbs tells me 
 his little baby is planted, too, somewhere, and he 
 'spects him to come up again some day; he talks a 
 lot, does Hobbs, added she thoughtfully, "but I'd 
 rather see the fairies. I didn't care for the baby much, 
 it had fits and screamed, and I am sure Hobbs is glad 
 it is planted."
 
 OCTOBER THE HUNTER'S MOON 285 
 
 " Oh, Molly, stop ! " I cried, " you are talking such 
 nonsense; we'll look at the garden to-morrow, and as 
 for sitting up, what would Jane say? I'll promise you 
 this, if the fairies are out to-night I'll wake you up 
 to see them. I shall see the full moon from my 
 balcony, and so will Claudia, for we have much to talk 
 of; and then recollect to-morrow. What did Hobbs 
 tell you we were going to do then, I wonder? " 
 
 " Oh, the drive ! The dear, long day out in the 
 sweet sunshine," cried Molly, and I fancied this was 
 an echo from Jane. " Oh, I know we are to get the 
 queer Cape creeper from his grandmother's cottage at 
 Frampton. She has made a plant for you and one for 
 Claudia, and they are ready. " Oh, I must tell Jane," 
 and off Molly bundled impetuously to find her gover- 
 ness, leaving us alone in the wide, slowly darkening 
 fire-lit hall. 
 
 October is my month, or at least it should be, for 
 then I was first introduced into the world, but I do 
 not like it, and oh, I never shall. The opal is sup- 
 posed to be my stone, and in a moment of superstition 
 I once bought a brooch ; but whatever it may have done 
 it never brought me luck, for I have never had any 
 in all my life. 
 
 Yet I cannot help loving the month and the stone 
 too, and if I ever now spend October in a town 1 
 grieve more than I can say, for there are thirty-one 
 days of clear, sheer waste. 
 
 I never felt it as mild as that special October, for
 
 286 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 after a long wet summer the weather had repented, 
 and the autumn months had been one long glorious 
 feast of golden days and most exquisite colouring, and 
 indeed it was now that the car came into use and we 
 went farther and farther afield. I shall never really 
 like a motor drive, and shall only look on a motor as 
 a means to an end, for one cannot see the country's 
 heart, of that be very sure, and when we dash along 
 an open road it appears to me rather as if we were 
 seated at one of the cinematograph shows, now so 
 fashionable; the country glides by as it does under 
 those circumstances, and we pass moor and heather 
 and village after village, and scarcely know where we 
 have been as we go along our way. 
 
 Of course in no other vehicle could we reach 
 Frampton from Hamworth, and once past the perils 
 of Dorchester High Street, where once again Philip 
 and Molly shake small fists at Judge Jeffreys' old 
 rooms, we glide out into a land of sheer romance. 
 Not that there was not a certain amount of romance 
 before, for it was market day in Dorchester, and all 
 up the steep streets stood the carriers' vans, still the 
 one way of travelling for the country folk from the 
 smaller villages to the county town. Round about 
 were gathered large and weather-worn dames laden 
 with parcels, and one caught, as one cautiously 
 climbed the street, the pure Wessex accent, which I 
 love although I freely confess I do not yet understand 
 all that is said in it. The old folk look very, very old,
 
 OCTOBER-THE HUNTER'S MOON 287 
 
 and there seems a scarcity of the young, and I see 
 great placards out recommending Canada and 
 Australia, and I feel what the French call a serrement 
 de cczur. I know how those young victims will feel 
 if they leave the dear west country, for have I not, too, 
 felt it? has not my heart really broken now and again 
 for a sight of the dark blue hills of Purbeck, where 
 the mist lies sometimes like angels' wings, and some- 
 times like a mere dream of snow? and have I not given 
 my life to the beloved place, though at one time I 
 pined for London and the gay bustle and sound and 
 glitter of its many lighted streets ? 
 
 But once out of the town we know what to look for. 
 Here on the bridge is the yellow wagtail, that must, 
 I think, live there, and here are the tall grey spires 
 and church towers and clustering villages with their 
 thatched roofs that are England at her best. Just 
 now there was a riot of colour, red, gold, and brown, 
 every tree was a study in a different hue ; while, as the 
 cottage doors come flush with the road, and at present 
 the children have no other playground, we go warily, 
 and can note the trim little gardens, the beautiful 
 downs sweeping away to the horizon, the silver river 
 fed by a hundred babbling brooks after the wet 
 summer, and rejoice that so much is left us that is yet 
 unspoiled. 
 
 There is a dip in the road before we come to 
 Frampton that an artist should paint in such an 
 October as this was; for no words can do it justice.
 
 288 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 The ground is deep brown with bracken and dead 
 beech leaves; over head, the beech, and oak and elm 
 vie with each other in colour, and never before did 
 I see the elm leaves solid "patines of bright gold." 
 Not one has fallen, all are on the trees, and are as if 
 they were sovereigns suspended in mid-air, and the 
 air is blue, and the sky is blue, and the sunshine, the 
 dear and lovely autumn sunshine, that illumines but 
 does not scorch, is over us all ! 
 
 While Claudia interviews Hobbs' mother and 
 obtains the Cape creepers, a relic of the war of which 
 many exist in the country-side, I go all alone into 
 Frampton Church and look at the historically interest- 
 ing place. One has to recollect the Sheridans and 
 the beautiful Mrs. Norton before we can admire it, 
 and even then I cannot forgive Mrs. Norton for a 
 dreadful window put up by her to her son Charles who 
 died in Paris, years and years ago, and one can but 
 wonder at the wonderful Sheridan pew, which is all 
 round the belfry, or perhaps where the belfry should 
 be, and has a great square table in the midst. It is 
 surrounded by monuments bearing fearsome epitaphs, 
 and I cannot think who can have written them, none 
 of the Sheridans, I vow, they were all too clever for 
 that, anyhow the family poet could not be hurt were 
 they now removed, for he must have been dead years. 
 
 Or stay, was it she ? I rather fancy a feminine hand 
 was guilty of one or two, but they are all so bad they 
 really should be destroyed at once. Alas ! that I
 
 OCTOBER THE HUNTER'S MOON 289 
 
 come on one fine memorial of the war, a lad I knew 
 a little, a Sheridan too, killed in one of those hateful 
 fights, and I forgive the rest of the monuments for 
 this one. His handsome, strong face stands out from 
 the wall : and no doubt each Sunday they commune 
 together, the one who laid down his life for his country, 
 and those others who have yet work, let us hope for 
 their country too, still to do. 
 
 How English history is bound up in our English 
 churches, to be sure ! Though truly here it does not 
 go so very far back, the estates came to the Sheridans 
 when young Sheridan the grandson of the dramatist 
 surely? eloped with an heiress out of the pantry 
 window at the big house. But the church is full of 
 the heiress' people. I suppose she was the last of 
 the line, and I recollect the oldest inhabitant at Ham- 
 worth speaking of the Sheridan inheritance with scorn. 
 
 " Brownes ought to be at Frampton, not Sheridans," 
 she said angrily, " they have always been there ; the 
 Sheridans are ' Johnny Newcomes,' and I have no 
 use for them at all." 
 
 No, poor, dear old lady, indeed she had not. What 
 was beauty, or wit, or divine talent, compared to 
 remaining for generations in one place ? Why, nothing 
 at all to her. The Brownes were long and long before 
 my day, and I doubt not they were good and worthy 
 folk, but the gay, brilliant Sheridans are at Frampton, 
 and Frampton and the Sheridans are inseparable in 
 my mind, at any rate, as inseparable as the splendid
 
 290 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 magnolia climbing up the white tower to the very top, 
 the thick, white, scented flowers of which pervade the 
 atmosphere and will hang on triumphant until the 
 first frosts kill them at one blow. 
 
 There are many peacocks about Frampton, and the 
 flower-beds at the lodge wear crinolines of wire to 
 protect them from the destructive birds : there is no 
 luck, they say, where there are peacocks. 
 
 Well, there may be none, but they are a gorgeous 
 sight in the October sunshine as they spread their 
 tails, trailing them across the grass, their blue necks 
 glittering and their proud, crested heads peering at 
 us as we go along the road once more to the car. 
 
 There is a hint of frost now in the air, and we are 
 glad of wraps and even of furs, and we all climb in 
 and make for home ; we have our plants, and Claudia 
 at first is very quiet. 
 
 " The poor old mother," she says at last, " of the 
 four sons only one lived to come home, and he is 
 crippled : he brought home the creepers and the green 
 spotted-leaved calla lilies which will bear yellow 
 flowers later. They are good to them at the big house, 
 and he helps to garden when he can bh, how can 
 any one shout for war, and such a war ! " 
 
 " Let those who make the quarrels be the only ones 
 to fight," I quote from a foolish old song of my youth. 
 
 " In that case Park Lane and the Stock Exchange 
 would be depleted," replied Claudia. "Oh, it does 
 not do to think of these things, or one would go mad.
 
 OCTOBER-THE HUNTER'S MOON 291 
 
 Such a peaceful village. Such a sweet country-side, 
 and yet both in the big house and in the cottages alike 
 are broken hearts because of that hateful, odious war. 
 Thank Heaven forHamworth,and for our magic circle, 
 dear friend. I am glad to turn away from it all and 
 go home. Ah, there are the hills at last ! " and as the 
 road was straight and clear and open, and we could 
 see for miles ahead, the car sprang forward and we 
 rushed home through the sweet, clear, peat-scented 
 autumn evening on our way to home and rest. 
 
 The hills were already gloomed in purple shadows 
 as we reached the bridge, lights were already gleaming 
 in some of the older deep-browed houses in the town, 
 and our lane was almost dark, and Claudia was in 
 haste to be gone. 
 
 Yet I kept her for a moment as I said, " Do not 
 forget your work in the north, dearest." 
 
 " No, indeed," she replied, " that shall be done 
 somehow. The gods always demand some gift when 
 one is happy : they shall have that, or else I provoke 
 their jealousy," and bending down she kissed me and 
 went swiftly on her way. 
 
 I turned into the wide hall with the children and 
 handed them over joyfully to Jane : waiting as ever 
 to take them off my hands. 
 
 " Bless Jane ! " I thought, " and now for peace and 
 rest " ; but as I sank into my accustomed corner and 
 took up the afternoon's budget of letters, papers and 
 sundry books, a hateful yellow envelope caught my
 
 292 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 eye. A telegram how I hated and dreaded the 
 things ! though now-a-days I had few dreads left that 
 would not reach me through the telephone, yet there 
 might still be others. 
 
 Ah ! it was from Beata, a cable the poor, sad 
 husband was dead. She was broken in heart and 
 health, but she would come home when she could, we 
 might look for her any day, though at present the 
 doctors said some time must elapse before she could 
 travel. 
 
 It was wicked of me, no doubt, but I was glad he 
 was dead. I could not imagine him bearable, or kind, 
 or good to the children, and now surely there would 
 be no change? 
 
 I dread change now-a-days as much as I used to 
 dread sameness. " Let nothing happen," I say daily 
 to whatever Power there be that manages our lives; 
 " an even flow, nothing more, please, and then indeed, 
 indeed, I am content." 
 
 The hunter's moon is at the full and floods the 
 garden, and I draw the curtains round the great win- 
 dow. I do not want to hunt or be hunted, but to rest. 
 
 Will Beata be content with Hamworth and with our 
 small circle, I wonder, or will she require a wider life 
 now she has seen so much? 
 
 What use to trouble yet? Time enough later on. 
 The owls call across the meadows, and the night is 
 quiet, it is time to sleep, if sleep I can with Beata's 
 sorrow to think of and the future to face.
 
 OCTOBER-THE HUNTER'S MOON 293 
 
 I could not live, I know, if I have once more to 
 be alone with my ghosts. Still even as I rebel in 
 thought I recollect I had peaceful, happy days even 
 then. I will not fear. I will live on from day to 
 day; after all, I am old; and nothing can last to 
 trouble me or please me for many more years, and so, 
 as Old Pepys would say, " to bed."
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 NOVEMBER THE DAYS DRAW IN 
 
 I DREAM always every night of my life as a matter 
 of course, and often I do not know which is the more 
 real, my life by day or the one I spend when one is 
 supposed to be quiet in one's bed, for then I take such 
 long journeys and share in such happenings that I 
 have a dual share of life, look at it how one will. 
 
 There is one dream I do not like at all, and that is 
 the one that takes me in and about my old home, 
 which looks to me much as it ever was until I am 
 inside ; then there are alterations I cannot comprehend, 
 rooms expand suddenly or become the first of a series 
 of three or four which I have never seen before, 
 passages lead nowhere in a most uncanny way or 
 become stately halls; and then once more the rooms 
 are just as they were at first, and I rejoice to know that 
 no change has taken place after all in all I used to 
 know and love so well. Then again at times I have 
 a long letter given me to read : I can decipher a word 
 or two, and then comes a series of blanks. I am 
 troubled and worried and give it up in despair, and 
 sometimes I live through a long story which eludes me 
 should I ever try and crystallize it in print, and some 
 
 nights after I received Beata's telegram I had a 
 
 294
 
 NOVEMBER THE DAYS DRAW IN 295 
 
 specially new and unpleasant dream which I trust I 
 shall never have again. 
 
 Something told me I was alone in a chamber in a 
 vast hotel, and in the next room a girl was sobbing her 
 heart out : such deep, dreadful, despairing sobs rent 
 the air that I wondered the place was not roused, and 
 I wondered too what I should do in the matter. 
 
 At last, always in my dream, I did arise and make 
 my way into the room where a young creature lay 
 prone on the floor, crying, crying, crying as if nothing 
 would ever stay the torrent of her tears. I knew that 
 she had been deserted by her husband, and indeed I 
 could read a cruel letter she held close against her 
 breast, though it was folded tightly in her hands : he 
 had tired of her in a month : ample provision would 
 be made for her, she could easily get a divorce, and 
 indeed the sooner she did so the better ; he wanted to 
 marry the woman he had gone away with, whom he 
 had loved for years and had deemed dead until he met 
 her once more on his honeymoon : now over and done 
 with as far as he was concerned, at any rate. 
 
 It was a most extraordinary dream. I could see and 
 knew all as if some one were telling and showing me 
 the story, and it made my night a weariness instead of 
 a refreshment. The girl would never divorce the man, 
 I knew, and she would be always hoping for his return. 
 She was young and beautiful : the woman he had met 
 again was middle-aged and worn, and yet she had 
 usurped the wife's place in a moment.
 
 296 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 Even now I do not understand why I should have 
 spent such an unhappy hour : it could not have been 
 more, and at last I refused to go on with my dream. 
 I woke up deliberately and found that the weather had 
 changed quite suddenly ; the sobs were sobs truly, but 
 from the over-charged water-pipes, and the moans 
 were from the wind that had risen in the usual Ham- 
 worth style, and that Autumn was gathering her robes 
 round her and preparing to fly before the onslaught 
 of winter. 
 
 I can break my dream-life at will, and when I wake 
 suddenly and wish to sleep once more I can return to 
 my dream and take it up just where I laid it down, 
 but to-night I did not feel as if I could go back to 
 that unhappy room in the unknown inn. 
 
 I thought of our old home life and of the great 
 London house, where I had been so restless because 
 I did not know what life was bringing, or indeed what 
 it meant, and oh ! how I wished the young folk would 
 believe us older ones when we tell them how to live, 
 but they will not, and I cannot see what good it all 
 is. Now I know just what mistakes I made, how 
 foolish, how wrong I often have been, and I have to 
 fold down the page and close the book. It will be put 
 on the shelf, left to get dirty and shabby, and no one 
 will ever use it. 
 
 What did my dream mean? Is there some girl I 
 ought to help, I wonder, and am I selfishly staying 
 alone here in peace and refusing to do any more my
 
 NOVEMBER-THE DAYS DRAW INT 297 
 
 part in the world ? I cannot help it now if this be so ; 
 I have done my work and must rest until the last best 
 rest of all comes, that which I trust, I know, shall 
 never end ! 
 
 The laggard day dawns very gradually in Novem- 
 ber, but when we have what I always call a " Ham- 
 worth day," truly it never seems to dawn really. A 
 soft grey light is vouchsafed us and that is all : clouds 
 resembling scarves of black crape drift rapidly across 
 the dark grey sky, whole masses of darker grey cloud 
 creep along the hills, the wind drives them on with a 
 whip when they leave the sheltering valley beyond the 
 hills, and the trees bend and scream and creak until 
 one fears they must one and all fall before the storm. 
 
 The rain crashes against the windows, and now and 
 then strikes the glass as if struck by a whip, and I 
 wonder about the children and Jane and the tents. I 
 do not trouble, they are not my children, and Jane is 
 very sensible, but I recollect such an early morning 
 after such a night would have sent me once post haste 
 to the nurseries. Indeed once the window blew 
 straight into that room and I had cause for alarm, now 
 I have none. 
 
 How selfish one is, truly, in one's old age : one's 
 own are safe, why worry about other folk? After all 
 one does one's best, and that is all that can possibly 
 be done, and I know if I am wanted some one if only 
 the telephone will tell me the fact quite as sure as 
 ever I care to hear it.
 
 298 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 I can see to read at eight, and in half-an-hour my 
 faithful Ellen will bring me my breakfast and tell me 
 all the little news of the household; but yet before 
 that even a timid tap comes at the door. 
 
 It is Jane; they have had to leave the tents and 
 camp out in the nurseries ; my nurseries, where never a 
 child has slept for thirty years, and where I never 
 meant any to sleep until my .unknown grandchildren 
 should come and claim their heritage. Jane knew 
 those rooms were always ready, it is a fancy of mine 
 that they always should be, and she dare not use the 
 usual rooms, for they had not been slept in for months 
 and months ; besides, the windows there had given way 
 and the rain and wind were playing havoc with the 
 place. It was a horrid end to a horrid night and I 
 could only gasp, but Jane was calm and sensible of 
 course. 
 
 Men were mending the windows already, all she 
 wanted was permission to use the old nurseries and 
 she would guarantee I should not be disturbed at all. 
 How had it happened that I had not been aroused? 
 I wondered. The nurseries led out of my own room 
 and I used to hear the smallest, wee-est sound. How 
 often in the lonely days before Claudia came into my 
 life had I not heard the little feet trot across the room 
 and the tiny hands turn the door-handle, while the wee 
 voices begged permission to come in? And now all 
 was silence. 
 
 Yes; it was all Jane; Jane who had silently carried
 
 NOVEMBER THE DAYS DRAW IN 299 
 
 out the alterations; silently installed the children and 
 had left them all fast asleep, all three exhausted by 
 the night, which, indeed, had been rather more alarm- 
 ing than even I had recognized, so disturbed had I 
 been by my own idiotic dreams and dreads and fears. 
 All the tents were down, indeed one had sailed away 
 before the wind, one or two of the trees were down, 
 and even the old apple-tree that bore the mistletoe we 
 planted fifty years ago had gone too. We should 
 never have mistletoe again from there, and I could 
 freely have wept, for we had always emulated the 
 Druids and gathered it in state and form every Christ- 
 mas Eve for years, I had even had a tiny silver sickle 
 given me for the purpose, for our gathering was but a 
 spray or two at best, and though that ceremony was 
 given up when we could no longer greet Christmas as 
 we used to do, I loved the mistletoe and hated to know 
 another relic of the past was gone for evermore. 
 
 What were slates off, windows broken or tents down 
 compared to that loss ? And I gave Jane carte blanche 
 for all she required. I could even bear Beata's 
 children for a day or so in the nurseries; the 
 mistletoe was gone, what else was to leave me before 
 I, too, went my way ? 
 
 I had become what would have been called " quite 
 naughty " in my own schoolroom days before my 
 letters and breakfast and paper came in in due course. 
 I have always hated November more than I can say, 
 and now I felt it had quite outdone itself in its detest-
 
 300 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 able behaviour ; to recollect the loss of the tree spoiled 
 what little I had left to spoil, and I turned away from 
 my dainty tray. But Ellen would have none of that. 
 I was propped up as usual and made to eat, while the 
 rain lashed the windows and the creepers whipped 
 against the glass, and the trees on the lawn quivered 
 and screamed aloud. 
 
 ' There is sorrow on the sea," said my old maid 
 solemnly, " and you won't make the tree grow up again 
 by refusing your food; just think of the poor folks out 
 beyond the hills, there'll be wrecks yonder by Portland 
 and Deadman's Bay be sure, and much more grief 
 there than we can ever see again." 
 
 " True, O Ellen ! " I replied, " but I could never 
 console myself, you know, by recollecting that other 
 folk were worse off than I am myself. You ought to 
 know that. I am sorry for them, of course, but at the 
 moment I am far more sorry for myself and my dear 
 old tree ; why, you too have gathered the mistletoe with 
 us, and I know you are quite as grieved at the loss as 
 ever I am, say what you will and scold me as much as 
 ever you like." 
 
 "Oh, I remember, of course," said Ellen, sensible 
 as even could Jane herself be; "but I recollect too 
 that you had all those good times, and nothing can 
 
 take them away. But I " and here the dear good 
 
 soul broke down and even burst into her most infre- 
 quent tears. 
 
 Here had she and I, mistress and maid, lived
 
 NOVEMBER THE DAYS DRAW IN 301 
 
 together all these years, and I never knew until this 
 drear November day that she had had a story. She 
 is quaint and neat and what Yorkshire folk call 
 " sprack " to look at, but I never, never thought of her 
 and love together, and yet, on just such a hideous 
 November night as we have had, her lover's boat went 
 down off Portland Bill, and never from that day to 
 this has she ever seen the cruel, dreadful sea again. 
 Oh, they were just about to be married, too, "called 
 home " (as is the Dorset expression for giving out the 
 banns of marriage) for the second time the Sunday 
 before, the tiny cottage newly thatched all finished and 
 ready, almost to the last chair and cup and saucer; and 
 her " place " given up where she had been second maid 
 for fifteen thrifty years, during which she had saved 
 pounds, and then came the storm. 
 
 She had rushed down to the lashed and angry beach 
 when his body came ashore, but they would not let her 
 look, the men killed near the Chesil Bank are strangely 
 disfigured, indeed not unseldom never are found. 
 
 There are legends of a terrific wreckage of Admiral 
 Christian's fleet, ghostly hands stretched out when the 
 storms stir the ocean's bed, when once more dead 
 sailors rise and claim fresh companions; and Dead- 
 man's Bay has a bad name with the sailors and be sure 
 it is very well deserved. 
 
 For weeks she hardly knew what she did or said, 
 but she had to be up and doing ; her old mistress would 
 gladly have reinstated her or even given her a better
 
 302 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 place, but she could not go back. She had left laden 
 with gifts and looking forward at thirty, a good staid 
 age as she put it, to a comfortable home and a man of 
 her own to look after, and she could not return where 
 she had been so happy. Neither could she live near 
 her cottage and see another woman installed where she 
 had hoped to reign in state. Her sorrow was my gain, 
 she came to me from her first and only mistress, and 
 here she will stay, only hoping to outlive me just long 
 enough to carry out my wishes after death, and then 
 to follow on as quickly as ever she may to the same 
 rest. 
 
 It seems as if the storm had loosened her tongue, 
 for never in all our years together now wellnigh on 
 thirty had I heard so much of her life and of the 
 strange village where her people had lived and died 
 for generations, where every house or cottage had a 
 smuggler's hole, and where her father had been 
 warden of the swannery island where the great birds 
 breed and the wild-fowl came in on such a November 
 day as this in flocks. We may live very close to each 
 other and know little really of each other after all, and 
 while she talks I find I have finished my breakfast and 
 should now turn to the business of the day. But 
 before she takes away the tray Ellen begs me never to 
 speak again to her of Joe. 
 
 " I was luckier than most," she said, " for he was 
 good and true to me and as straight-living as any man 
 could be, and I know he went straight to heaven out of
 
 NOVEMBER-THE DAYS DRAW IN 308 
 
 that dreadful night of storm; but his brother Lot 
 well ! he did ought to have been married first and he 
 went, and his girl had a baby and died ; you know that 
 baby, ma'am, it's Lot's, too : him in the garden you 
 called Hobbs when you got him first. I thought I 
 should have died ; he's the image of what my Joe was 
 the day he went off in his boat, but I could not say a 
 word then, and I don't know why I should now, only 
 sometimes they say I favour Lot, them girls in the 
 kitchen I mean, and I do, and now you know the 
 reason why," and she took up the tray and made off, 
 leaving me speechless. I had forgotten my mistletoe, 
 my sorrows, and the children in my nurseries : how 
 could I recollect them when such silent grief had 
 surrounded me for all these many, many years ? 
 
 I rose and looked out of the window. Hobbs (I 
 should never call him Lot, though I should always 
 think of him as that, I knew) was swerving across the 
 lawn against the wind in a venerable macintosh and 
 high sea-boots and a sou' -wester, and I trembled as 
 he went. Every minute I expected to see the may-tree 
 down or the great wych elm fall or the mulberry-tree 
 go; but I could not call out. If I had opened a 
 window, the storm would have been in on me and I 
 could never make him hear; besides, I knew he was 
 anxious, too, about his new fruit-trees, and he had his 
 work to do; all I could manage was to beg some one 
 to tell him not to touch the apple-tree until the storm 
 was over. I should try and save something out of its
 
 304 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 ruin, perhaps a twig might live or boxes could be made 
 from the wood ; anyhow, I should keep the last sprays 
 of mistletoe dried the poor thing would ever bear. 
 
 As the day broadened out into real light, the worst 
 of the storm passed by : the clouds, still ragged and 
 torn, raced down the sky, but the wind was quieter, and 
 though the rain fell it did not stream in torrents, and 
 presently Jane came in again. 
 
 ' The worst is over and the glass is rising, and see, 
 the winter heliotrope has flowered," she said. " I 
 thought I smelt it yesterday when I put Philip into his 
 bed in the tent, but it was too dark to see ; now I have 
 just been out to gather up our wreckage and found 
 this," and she handed me the sober lavender-coloured 
 blossoms and wide green leaves that so few people 
 grow, I cannot tell why. True, it encroaches madly 
 when once it gets its foot into a garden, and it is not 
 good to look at compared with other flowers, but the 
 scent is delicious, old-worldly, fine and gracious, and 
 the flowers are out when nothing else is, and all 
 through November and December we can gather 
 something if we will in an otherwise bare and deserted 
 place. 
 
 I had my first plant, too, from East End Cottage 
 when the oldest inhabitant was still youthful and 
 blooming in her own eyes, if in no one else's, and I 
 welcome it always for her sake, but on this day, after 
 this horrible night, it appears doubly precious, some- 
 how, for, at any rate, it has not suffered from the storm,
 
 NOVEMBER THE DAYS DRAW IN 305 
 
 and scents my whole room until even in this hideous 
 month I can recollect the spring. It reminds me in a 
 mysterious manner of one of those gentle, uneventful 
 lives that one hardly recognizes until they are gone : 
 then we miss them indeed and we grieve that we did 
 not do more to help them while they were still here. 
 
 My old maid is one of them, to others, not to me, 
 for without her I could not live at all, of that I am 
 sure. No one else remembers all I do, no one else 
 can; she is despised and sneered at in silence by the 
 younglings of the domestic staff, but all the same they 
 could not get on without her, though I have not the 
 least doubt they imagine they could do so very well 
 indeed. But let her go for one of her most infrequent 
 days out, and what happens? They are astonished 
 and pained to discover all the odd jobs they have to do 
 in her place; the fires do not keep in by themselves, 
 as no doubt they expected they did, the plants and 
 flowers soon require care; even the cushions look re- 
 proachfully at them, there is no skilful hand to shake 
 them up and put them "just so"; and the books are 
 all crooked, yesterday's newspapers lie about, and in a 
 few hours the whole house looks desolate and in a 
 measure ashamed, 
 
 Ellen takes the winter heliotrope from me at once ; 
 " Flowers are flowers in November," she says, " and 
 must be carefully tended," and she, of course, knows 
 the particular vase sacred to this one blossom. What 
 do people do, I wonder, who are perpetually changing
 
 306 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 their maids? Among my mercies, as the old folk 
 would say, let me put this one first indeed, that I have 
 never lived in a world of change in the domestic 
 regions, faithful loving service has always been mine, 
 and glad indeed I am that such has been the case ! 
 Now Ellen reminds me that the storm has made me 
 forget my letters and papers, and though she will not 
 let me get up, or go out of my room, she brings me all 
 my belongings, and makes the cheerful fire even more 
 cheerful than it was. I do hear the children now : and 
 honestly, I do not like it. Now Philip's voice, now 
 Molly's, and Jane's calm tones reach me, and finally, 
 Peter's shrill, determined conversation can be heard. 
 Peter has his own ideas of the weather, and I cannot 
 help laughing : he wished to draw the storm at once, 
 and demands coloured chalks, as he knows the middle 
 was red and the rest black and yellow, for he saw it 
 all before the horrid beasts blew his bed away into the 
 sea. 
 
 After all I like to hear the children, though I said 
 I did not; they are so different from those who were 
 there once that the pain first slackens and then stops. 
 They cared more for soldiers and animals and real 
 things than these bairns of Beata's do, and no one was 
 ever like Peter : he is one by himself, and I am truly 
 grieved that I can never know what species of man he 
 will become and what he will do, for long before he 
 is grown up I must have gone on my way into the 
 unseen !
 
 NOVEMBER THE DAYS DRAW IN 307 
 
 It does not matter : suppose he should be a follower 
 of the Futurists, the Impressionists, and not an artist 
 at all ? Nay, he may even develop his unknown 
 father's cranks and turn Buddhist. I have had many 
 disappointments in my day, I do not want Peter 
 to be another one; I would rather know nothing 
 of his later years than that such a thing as that 
 might be ! 
 
 November is a horrible month, and nothing can ever 
 make it really bright and good, though after the storm 
 the month settled down in a measure and we had some 
 really bright days, and Hobbs was very hopeful about 
 the garden, and even about our poor old apple-tree, 
 it was down, but not below the mistletoe, and the stump 
 stood up gaily with the mistletoe still in and safe, and 
 all the new trees and shrubs were saved. Others had 
 not been as fortunate as we were, and I heard that 
 McCrae was almost weeping at East End Cottage : 
 the dear old stump, which was always one mass of 
 " seven sisters " roses, was down, as was the horrible 
 araucaria, the monkey puzzle tree I always hated, 
 but which had been the pride of the heart of the oldest 
 inhabitant, and at which in her time no one had dared 
 to scoff. The great wistaria creeper, too, had suffered 
 vastly, and as to the gardens below the lawn, they 
 were a ruin; fortunately it was early winter and not 
 spring, but if I could spare Hobbs for half-a-day he 
 would be grateful, and he was sure Miss Claudia would 
 see that would be all right.
 
 308 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 For Claudia was away, and I was bereft of her 
 for the first time in all the years since she and I had 
 met and been such dear and intimate friends. I own 
 I was suffering much from this absence, for how could 
 I tell how matters would shape themselves, and our 
 lives end after all our hopes and fears ? I heard every 
 day nearly, but the letters did not bring me much 
 comfort, for I felt that the link of blood was stronger 
 than she dare confess to me at present. 
 
 At first the hideous black mining country had sick- 
 ened her, she hardly dare enter the dark, dull cottages 
 or exchange good-days with the surly miners or their 
 toil-worn, dusky, overburdened wives; then, too, the 
 house and the vast park frightened her. But then she 
 had found her mother's room locked and left just as it 
 was the day she ran away with Gresley, it had never 
 been entered since, and the discovery of all her 
 mother's little things had weakened her hatred for the 
 place; after all it was the cradle of her race, and she 
 might owe something to the land that had given it 
 shelter for so many, many years. Mrs. McCrae had 
 gone north with Claudia, and her northern spirit was 
 no doubt helping Claudia to understand, but, oh ! I 
 did pray that she would not live so far away from 
 Hamworth, and every letter that came made me more 
 uneasy, until finally one arrived and I could breathe 
 again. 
 
 Lucius' book was born at last, and she had received 
 her own volume, and at once the sweet southern
 
 NOVEMBER-THE DAYS DRAW IN 309 
 
 country rose before her, and she knew where she would 
 be really and truly at home again. 
 
 When Lucius brought me my own special copy, I 
 saw that he, too, was relieved and glad. 
 
 Claudia had had hers first, as was but her right, and 
 even before the Press she and I were privileged to 
 own and handle the lovely thing. For it was a lovely 
 thing, of that there was not the least doubt ; the bind- 
 ing was fine soft leather cunningly tooled and inlaid 
 with green and gold to intimate the country joys that 
 lay within, and the beautiful photographs of our own 
 beloved secret spots were a triumph. As for the letter- 
 press, we both knew that by heart; for we had gone 
 over it over and over again, until not even the demon 
 printer could make an error, try he his level best to 
 commit his usual crimes. 
 
 At first Lucius had been very sad about 
 Claudia's inheritance, it seemed, he said, to put 
 her such miles above him in the matter of pence, 
 but here I would not listen for a moment to such 
 nonsense. 
 
 "So that the money is there," I said, "what matter 
 who owns it you or she? You have riches that no 
 one can take away, simple tastes, too, are your common 
 property. Suppose ' unearned increment,' taxation of 
 land values, and more still of the all sorts and con- 
 ditions of taxes that are sprung upon us daily, strip 
 Claudia of her heritage, you can still live. I know 
 you will neither of you be rolling in riches were the
 
 310 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 worst to happen, but you could live, and in clean, pure 
 air. It's only the fools that long for fine raiment, 
 jewels and smart society, and who pine for wealth. 
 To dig you are not ashamed, Lucius, and as for 
 Claudia, she can sew and cook, and I dare say wash : 
 it's only useless age that suffers when money goes, and 
 that I know to my very bitter cost." 
 
 " I want to give Claudia all she requires myself," 
 said Lucius ; " a man who lives on his wife is a cur, and 
 should not be allowed to exist at all." 
 
 "Granted," I replied, "with all my heart; but a 
 man who lives with his wife shares and shares alike, 
 she may have more money, but you take the cares 
 from her shoulders. You make her home, and perhaps 
 you may even some day give her children. There is 
 no mine and thine in true marriage, Lucius, believe 
 me, it is all us and we, and when I hear or read the 
 foolish words about marriage that are now so often 
 written and spoken, my heart burns within me. Shall 
 a husband, forsooth, pay his wife for housekeeping, 
 allow her so much for her clothes, so much for her 
 bread, and so on? Why, they none of them under- 
 stand the first word of what true marriage means. 
 Listen, Lucius, and let yours be one, at any rate. Man 
 and woman are not separate nor enemies : they make 
 one harmonious whole, that is if they love, and you 
 remember what you said some months ago? " 
 
 Lucius looked me straight in the face. " Ah ! in- 
 deed I do, and what you answered," he replied, " and
 
 NOVEMBER-THE DAYS DRAW IN 311 
 
 I do love Claudia dearly more and more, too, every 
 day I live.' 5 
 
 " So will it be to the end if you are all I take you 
 for, Lucius," I said solemnly, " and, dear boy, remem- 
 ber me if ever you are tired or inclined to fall out, or 
 to be not quite certain after all that you could not 
 have won a better bride." 
 
 Lucius exclaimed at this, but I went on : " It is a 
 long way from the altar to the grave, and I hope your 
 journey together may be even until the setting of the 
 sun which you may watch hand in hand, but you 
 cannot always keep at the same high level as on your 
 wedding day. November comes to all, sometimes we 
 have storms that clear the atmosphere, as we had the 
 other day, sometimes dismal fogs and misunderstand- 
 ings, and sometimes one is over-tired, over-anxious, 
 and above all not well. You and Claudia must face 
 all this, even perhaps bad times, but if you recollect 
 love is a tender plant and needs much constant care 
 and nourishment, I shall not be afraid for you : and 
 you must write more books, Lucius, this one is going 
 to open you a wide gate, and I hope you will enter 
 into the paradise of writers and remain there safe and 
 sound." 
 
 " All writers are not happy or successful," said 
 Lucius, touching his book lovingly as it rested on my 
 knee. 'There was Dickens, was he happy? and 
 Thackeray and lesser men than they, and indeed others 
 still alive, and some wellnigh as great ! Not one of
 
 312 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 them was really a happy man as I think of happiness, 
 and after all, Happiness is better than Fame." 
 
 ' Take it from me, a small writer, little known and 
 less beloved maybe than most," I replied, " that no 
 other joy on earth approaches the real true joy one 
 has in merely writing down one's thoughts. I have 
 written for years and years and never once with a 
 thought beyond the day's delight of creating, or I 
 should say in my own special case reproducing, things 
 which have been episodes by the way. Sometimes, 
 Lucius, I do not know what is real and what is not. 
 I have so many unseen companions, and indeed have 
 always had them from the days when I first could 
 hold a pen and chronicle for my own delight the 
 mere events of every childish day. Then, too, the 
 bliss of verse-making. Have you ever known that, 
 I wonder ? " 
 
 Lucius took a pocket-book out of his pocket and 
 handed me some stray clippings from what appeared 
 to me to be the local paper. ' They sing themselves, 
 they come, I do not make them," he said as he watched 
 me read them ; " it is as if some one whispered ' Write ' 
 and the verses put themselves on paper : and so the 
 thing is done." 
 
 Once more my jealous heart was stirred a little, 
 only a little, bitterly : what it is to be young and able 
 to sing, for in just such a way had mine own old-time 
 verses come to me, the very first published wrote 
 themselves when Lucius and I were sitting there, but
 
 NOVEMBER-THE DAYS DRAW IN 313 
 
 it was late summer, not November : voices from the 
 bridge confused and wordless had come to me, and 
 meditating on last Sunday's sermon and the strife of 
 creeds the lines were born. 
 
 Such confused sentences ! such confused beliefs ! 
 The sonnet wrote itself and rang so true that the new 
 magazine took it, and behold I was very glad and 
 proud, but I would not allow myself to become jealous 
 ever again, the " World " and " Time " have moved on 
 since my day, and I fancy that " Time," at any rate, 
 is dead, and the kind, delightful editor of both has 
 long since become nought but dust : and indeed I am 
 glad there is a higher standard than the one I reached, 
 and still more glad that Lucius has reached it and is 
 a success even in the present critical day. 
 
 I gave him back his songs and told him that none 
 save the wood elves could have written them, and that, 
 therefore, he must not be unduly proud and puffed up : 
 his familiar spirits are all open-air ones, he has none 
 of the horrible problem books about him, none of the 
 patchouli-scented aroma that is so poisonous and that 
 hangs about so many alas ! that I should say it 
 women's books of the day. How I do detest this 
 unnatural hectic literature, to be sure, and one longs 
 for a censor of books ! Lucius would take a high 
 place, I know, but that he will be one of the " best 
 sellers " I have my doubts. 
 
 But we shall see, the publishers are very hopeful, 
 in another week reviews should begin, then Lucius will
 
 314 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 understand where he is, or rather where he may be, 
 and at any rate for me, and better still for Claudia, 
 he is the one writer, and about the others we need not 
 trouble in the very least. 
 
 That there was more on his mind than even the book 
 and Claudia's money I knew, for the atmosphere he 
 brought in that November morning was not a restful 
 one. And at last he confessed that he had made up 
 his mind to beg Claudia to marry him before Christ- 
 mastide, and let him know what a home could really 
 be. She was settling matters at last in her own mind, 
 and they could together go up north and put in train 
 the real home of help that the great house should 
 truly be. 
 
 Claudia had told us both that she had finally solved 
 the problem, and that she meant to carry out the 
 suggestion I had made. Lucius had photographs of 
 the house, the park and the village to show me, and 
 I said at once that Claudia could never really live 
 among such surroundings, and that while they owed 
 duty and part of her days to her inheritance, she could 
 not really exist where not only was man vile but all the 
 country-side was vile too. 
 
 They must find together some one they could trust 
 as curator of the Museum, and others to run the House 
 of Rest for mothers, and arrange that the park should 
 be tended by some one who understood the work and 
 could make it as much a sanctuary as it might be. 
 Fortunately there was a parson of sense in the village
 
 NOVEMBER-THE DAYS DRAW IN 315 
 
 who could grip the situation, and as he was one of 
 the broad-minded school, was willing and able to mix 
 with all manner of men : his wife was a trained nurse, 
 and their children were grown up and out in the world, 
 except a daughter, who could help, while one of the 
 sons was a doctor, and he would marry and settle down 
 and take over the work in the house itself. 
 
 Doubtless Kew would furnish us with a guardian 
 for the park and gardens, at any rate, such a man could 
 be found, no doubt, and Lucius would see to that when 
 he went north on his honeymoon. 
 
 I smiled to myself at the word, I recollected the 
 scoffing at the poor " Heir of Redcliff " of old, whose 
 honeymoon was to be a round of the cathedrals of 
 England at which critics and others had gently 
 mocked ; what would folk say of such an utilitarian 
 move as this? 
 
 " I have always had my own idea of honeymoons," 
 I said, " and I do think yours is the best I have ever 
 thought about. I do so pity the silly men and women 
 who go off alone to quiet places and think to live on 
 love and kisses alone. Why, they will have fifty times 
 more to talk about if they live to their golden wedding 
 than they have on their first wedding day. Fill every 
 moment of your time together first with some over- 
 powering interest, and you'll find the love last, Lucius; 
 but when do you think of marrying, and where and 
 how?" 
 
 Lucius looked out straight at the hills, and then he
 
 316 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 said quite quietly : " I am afraid you will be shocked, 
 dear friend, but it must be London and a registry 
 office." 
 
 I called out : "Oh, why? I do love a pretty wed- 
 ding, Claudia in white and the children as a bridesmaid 
 and pages, and flowers ; are we to do without all that, 
 to say nothing of a church? No, not Hamworth, of 
 course, but some charming village church : why not 
 Steeple? It could be managed there, and we could 
 have such a pretty delightful picture to hang in our 
 gallery of memories, you know ! " 
 
 " Steeple in November, even with the car, is a little 
 difficult, besides, you know how folk talk in the 
 country," replied Lucius; "there will be my name in 
 the register." 
 
 ' You were christened with your father's name and 
 are known by that alone," I replied, " and as to Steeple 
 in November, I have known the most glorious days 
 there possible : days of clear sunshine and soft drifting 
 mists, days when the sun has been hot on one's 
 shoulders as one climbed the hills, and above all days 
 of clear, keen, fresh blue skies and a hint of hope that 
 make one forget the very name of the month. Why, 
 even here in Hamworth since the storm it has been 
 delightful ! " 
 
 Lucius laughed. "Well, I will see what Claudia 
 says, of course, a licence will do away with banns," he 
 said, "but suppose another storm blows up? I do 
 remember your telling me of drives round the Castle
 
 NOVEMBER-THE DAYS DRAW IN 317 
 
 mound, when you thought you would never get to your 
 destination." 
 
 "Oh yes, I remember," I replied, "but Claudia's 
 wedding day will be fine I know; you must have the 
 service early and swear the Parson to secrecy, but I 
 must have my pretty wedding. A registry office is 
 horrible, suggestive of secret, furtive doings and all 
 manner of horrors. I don't believe any such marriage 
 ever turned out well, and you are to run no risks : 
 the dear little church is hallowed by centuries of prayer 
 and praise, let it hallow your wedding, Lucius, and if 
 all Hamworth rushes over and looks at the register 
 what does it matter ? We are in a magic circle of our 
 own, and the ' he says and she says ' of country life 
 cannot reach us, of that be very sure indeed." 
 
 We had not very much left of the month when 
 Claudia returned from the north, and I was glad, 
 indeed, to have my girl back once more, even if for the 
 last time she was my very own. Mrs. McCrae was 
 most important and busy, and unlike her usual taciturn 
 self, and she showed me laces and satins that had been 
 hidden for years, and spoke volumes for the honest 
 folk who had tended the poor old last owner of the 
 ancestral place. 
 
 I love old family things dearly, and have never 
 forgiven and will never forgive a relation who boldly 
 annexed the wedding-gown of my great-great-great- 
 grandmother and held it, though she knew quite well 
 it was mine own particular inheritance, for had I not
 
 318 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 worn it as " Dolly Varden " at many a fancy ball, and, 
 moreover, was I not pictured in it as Sterne's "gris- 
 ette," a photograph of which I hold as evidence at the 
 present time? I can see the dress now, and indeed 
 Claudia's people had saved one of the same date, a 
 thick, cream, white silk dress that would "stand by 
 itself," embroidered down each stripe by hand in small 
 pink roses and green x leaves. Claudia's dress had dark 
 rosebuds and I preferred my pink ones, but she did 
 not find as I had done in the soft silk dress pocket a 
 pair of wide, paste shoe-buckles wrapped up in an old, 
 faded, stilted love-letter. I never mentioned these 
 and so I have them, though I have lost the dress, 
 well ! it really does not matter, one gets very loose 
 from one's possessions at my age, and there is no one 
 to care about things once I have passed beyond the 
 curtain and the stage is filled by other younger folk 
 once more. 
 
 But Claudia is to wear the lace and the dress despite 
 the colour, on the day of days, and she chose the first 
 week in December so that she could be home again for 
 Christmas-time. 
 
 As if to make me out a false prophet, another storm 
 burst over us about three days before the wedding : 
 the rain poured down and the trees strained and 
 screamed all night, and indeed for two days and nights 
 I did not know what was to occur. Then the wind 
 dropped and the children came racing into my room 
 and begged me to look out, the Causeway was flooded,
 
 NOVEMBER THE DAYS DRAW IN 319 
 
 the water was all over the meadows, and already boats 
 were plying between us and the village across the wide, 
 red road. 
 
 It was a wild, beautiful sight, and I went as far as 
 the bridge, and for once joined the many loafers on 
 that sacred spot. The waters swirled and played 
 around the piers, and really now and then I fancied the 
 bridge shook, but I knew it could not, it was built in 
 other times than ours : the Normans who built my 
 Castle built the bridge, and it had stood many and 
 many a storm, and it was safe. 
 
 It was less pleasant to note the dark bundles which 
 came floating along with the rushing river; now a 
 drowned pig, now some foolish hens and other 
 creatures that suggested worse horrors. But it was but 
 a suggestion, thank Heaven ! No one was really 
 drowned though the animals suffered greatly, and we 
 had many a quaint petition sent round for money to 
 replace the lost beasts, petitions which I fancy are 
 peculiar to Hamworth, and will soon cease to be now 
 every one and everything are " compulsorily insured." 
 All the same the meadows looked threatening for our 
 wedding, and the day before even Claudia had her 
 doubts. But we were one and all so happy that I think 
 we would have braved a worse storm than the one we 
 had, or even commandeered the use of the hideous 
 Hamworth Church rather than postpone the ceremony. 
 
 Yet I was glad to see a good clear moon get up in 
 the evening, and to feel quite certain that the Cause-
 
 320 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 way would be clear and the cars able to reach the little 
 church. And as if to give a final touch to our joy, 
 Lucius' book was a success, a real and great one : it 
 was in the third edition in the month : two or three 
 bigwigs in the Nature world had welcomed it openly 
 and recommended it vigorously, and as the night fell 
 and we three sat round the hall fire as we should never 
 sit again, for man and wife must be different from the 
 dear lovers they were then, I wished, how I wished 
 things would never change and that we could always 
 be as we were then. It was a moment in my life that 
 I could say I was happy : and how few how fleeting 
 are such moments in even the happiest life that ever 
 can be in this changing world of ours !
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 DECEMBER THE YEAR ENDS 
 
 I SEEMED to awake with the words of the old text 
 in my ears as if some one had spoken them : " And 
 the evening and the morning were the first day." 
 
 It was a splendidly clear, bright, frosty day, and I 
 awoke right early to remember that Claudia was 
 married and gone away up to the dark and dismal 
 north. I wondered what she and Lucius thought of 
 the dark park and the great, cold house, and I looked 
 out at my dear, blue hills and the dancing, glittering 
 river and wished that they, too, could share the view. 
 About Hamworth, unless the weather be very excep- 
 tional, one hardly knows that it is winter, for there 
 are few trees to shed their leaves : the firs stand up 
 dark green and living, whatever time of year it is, and 
 though the broad stretch of heath is drearily brown, 
 there is always here and there a glint of gold from the 
 daring gorse, while the air is so clear, so clear, so 
 purple, that we cannot think of winter, for though the 
 peat smoke climbs slowly up from a hundred hearths 
 it only scents the air, it does not darken nor poison 
 as coal does, unless we cross the second range of hills 
 and meet the scent of the Kimmeridge shale. Then 
 
 we retreat in haste, the smell from that is awful, and 
 x 321
 
 322 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 I still remember with horror my one effort to use it. 
 It was to please my dear doctor, too, for he believed 
 in the horrid stuff, but we were not only nearly 
 poisoned, but we found a deposit of slimy grease on 
 the gorgeous steel grate, which took hours to get rid 
 of. Oh ! that grate ! I think of it with a shudder, 
 and wonder what the maids of the present day would 
 say were they confronted with the hideous, awful 
 thing ! 
 
 Claudia found similar grates up north, and we had 
 laughed together when she told me of them, over my 
 own old horror. Indeed, now all my life seemed one 
 with hers, and yet sEe was married and gone ! 
 
 It would not do to brood or even waste such a day 
 as this, and I determined to order out Claudia's car 
 and go over to the wood with Jane and the children. 
 Of course, Lucius had left all in order, but there was 
 no reason why I should not hasten there and see for 
 myself all that was going on. 
 
 There was a chorus of approval when the car came 
 round, and Jane congratulated me on daring to have 
 an open air lunch in December. Dear Jane ! If 
 she had only known how many I had had in my time, 
 if lunch it could be called : from bread and cheese and 
 ginger-beer out in the rabbit warren at the farm, to 
 hard-boiled eggs and cake and fruit in Holme Lane, 
 not half-a-dozen years ago, all alone, or with one who 
 could never again wander with me over the beloved 
 spot.
 
 DECEMBER-THE YEAR ENDS 323 
 
 Now Claudia has gone the ghosts have trooped back 
 once more, and I cannot but believe that Bessie, at 
 least, released from her many fancies and her worn- 
 out body, glides along the well-known road, or it 
 may be Crystal, but she is too far away, it is thirty- 
 eight years since she died, and I have a fancy that as 
 the years pass those whom we have loved deeply go 
 farther and farther away from us. Else why should 
 we forget them as we sometimes do?, It must only 
 be because they are farther off, and we are not able to 
 follow them into that rarer, freer air in which they 
 now rejoice. 
 
 Jane is very stiff and silent, and the children, too, 
 are fractious and inclined to quarrel. The wedding 
 cake, to say nothing of the wedding, which passed off 
 with the greatest eclat, as far as we were concerned, 
 may have upset us all, and I know I feel rather cross, 
 though I had had my way about it and even managed 
 music and flowers, though no one, not even Claudia, 
 knew what was being done. A little extravagance on 
 my part, a little manoeuvring and here was a choir 
 and an organist from Bournemouth, and the wonderful 
 McCrae managed the flowers, though both he and his 
 wife fancied they smelt of Popery, as did the music 
 and the fine dresses of us, one and all. 
 
 I gave away the bride, and there was not one soul 
 in the church save ourselves, and never surely was 
 the ceremony more beautiful or more heart-felt, and 
 I wished all brides could have such a marriage day.
 
 324 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 But now it was the day after, and, of course, we 
 all felt a little flat, and I, too, felt nervous, only 
 Claudia had driven the car so far for me, and here was 
 I at the mercy of her chauffeur, and Heaven alone 
 knew what would happen before we reached home 
 again. 
 
 Honestly, I was glad to see the wood and reach the 
 four cross roads safely, where is the gate at which we 
 always leave the car and go in. To my surprise the 
 pale blue smoke was climbing up into the air from 
 Lucius' cottage. Who could have dared to occupy 
 it? I wondered? Indeed indeed it was well that I 
 had come to see. 
 
 A peal of laughter reached me the children had 
 run on, and Claudia oh ! wicked, deceitful Claudia 
 had come out and. was racing about with the bairns as 
 if they had been parted as many weeks as they had 
 been hours. Lucius followed her from the cottage, 
 and neither looked in the least abashed. Secretly 
 they had planned this move and secretly had carried 
 it out, and the evening and the morning had been 
 indeed their first day of days. 
 
 I always love the wood, but I think I love it better 
 in the silence of winter than at any other time of the 
 year. The elegant, naked branches of the trees are 
 so beautiful, and so is the place : only the stout, red- 
 waistcoated robin bursts out into song, and then 
 follows us begging for the food he is too lazy, too 
 pampered, says Lucius, to find out for himself : there 

 
 DECEMBER THE YEAR ENDS 325 
 
 are strange sounds from the wild-fowl in the decoy, 
 and, of course, at night the owls have very much to 
 say, but just now there is no moon to speak of : it will 
 not be full before Christmas Day, and that day I 
 always hate and do not want to think of until I am 
 obliged. 
 
 Claudia and Lucius were much as two bad children 
 discovered red-handed in some mischief when we all 
 fell in on them, and Claudia demanded to know how 
 we had found them out. 
 
 " I would have gone fifty miles in another direc- 
 tion," I declared, "if I had known of your nefarious 
 deed. I wanted to see if the wood were safe, or if 
 Lucius had taken it away or, indeed, if it were not 
 overrun with trespassers, who knew he was married 
 and gone : for Hamworth has the news, Claudia, now, 
 and I can tell you they are enjoying themselves madly 
 over the whole thing. The Bournemouth organist has 
 friends in Hamworth, and he ' gave the show away,' 
 as they express it, but what does it matter, after all? 
 Now please explain your conduct, and why you are 
 here and not as you should be, in your ancestral 
 home?" 
 
 " For most excellent reasons, dearest of friends," 
 said Claudia saucily, " we did not want to go : we 
 wanted perfect peace and quiet : moreover, I heard 
 hints of a public welcome, and we could not bear that. 
 We met here most, and here we found each other's 
 hearts. I won't be sentimental, if I can help it, we
 
 826 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 have books, a piano, and not one soul to see us, if we 
 except the birds and those stray wild beasts that slip 
 past us now and again." 
 
 I looked inquiringly at the cottage, and Claudia 
 opened the door and showed me proudly in : the 
 children and Jane had walked off, and Lucius, putting 
 an arm round Claudia, drew her to his side. 
 
 " Behold," he said, " cook, housemaid, boot-cleaner, 
 bottle-washer, what you will ! there isn't a servant in 
 the place, an'd here we mean to remain until the 
 weather breaks, or we want more food and more books. 
 You have not seen my last lordly purchase, a motor- 
 bicycle and a side-car. No, of course not ! See how 
 easy it is to deceive. We went off by train all right, 
 boxes and McCraes an'd all complete, but these latter 
 went north and we got off at Poole, there was my own 
 vehicle, bought out of my own money, an'd back we 
 came here. You were too busy with the wedding 
 finery and your secrets, madam, to ferret out mine. 
 Now, see if this room is not fit for a bride, aye, even 
 for one who has to cook and wash up, though I confess 
 that part of the work comes to me ! " 
 
 I looked round in amazement at the new furniture 
 in the dear little place : there was enough for comfort : 
 books to keep one going for months, a wide, splendid 
 writing-table, a sofa, a couple of easy chairs, and 
 nothing besides, not even a clock. 
 
 The dolls' kitchen was complete and the dolls' 
 larder was full : what more could any one want? save
 
 DECEMBER THE YEAR ENDS 327 
 
 love, silence and the majestic safety of the birds' 
 wood? I felt as if all my work had been done far 
 better than I could have done it myself. What a 
 week to recollect all their happy lives, for a week was 
 to see the interrupted journey completed, I heard. A 
 week ! Why, according to the old Bible story creation 
 did not take longer : here, indeed, was a new heaven 
 and a new earth, and I prayed in silence that so it 
 might be until the very end. 
 
 They took life joyously and really these two, an'd 
 how delightful it was to know that this was so, they 
 might have been primeval man and woman in the 
 sacred silence of the wood no noise, no fuss, no 
 frills! And while Claudia "redded up her house" 
 Lucius looked to his decoy, his books and his work, 
 fetched his letters and papers, and they were as truly 
 happy as the day was long. 
 
 The children insisted on seeing the working of the 
 decoy, but once the clever little dog had driven the 
 wild-fowl up into the very last net, from whence they 
 could be taken alive if wanted for dinner, the birds 
 were allowed to be free in honour of the wedding; 
 then we had our luncheon out on the wide-bricked 
 space we had made for similar meals, and then, despite 
 cries from the children and prayers that Lucius and 
 Claudia should come, too, we left them alone and 
 went home. 
 
 We left them, but oh ! at least for me, they came 
 with me all the long and silent way, and I envied
 
 328 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 them with all the heart I yet had left; but how memory 
 takes one back to one's own happiness, until one 
 wonders if it be a blessing or a curse ! I do not want 
 to live again, but I did wish I could have stood once 
 more as Claudia stood : shoulder to shoulder with her 
 young husband, his strong hand in hers and her clear 
 eyes looking dauntlessly out into a future she had 
 learned through his love and the spell of the clear, 
 clean country not to dread after all. Whatever hap- 
 pened, she was happy : no wonder the Fates sent her 
 to Hamworth, no wonder I saw Lucius' advertise- 
 ment in the Post, and so brought the two together in 
 the manner I had done, unwittingly, at any rate, as 
 far as I was concerned. 
 
 Some folk think of the Fates as sardonically wait- 
 ing to tangle life's threads even before they snip them 
 in twain, but I, at any rate, do not; let Fate be good 
 still to my lovers as sometimes Fate has been to me ; 
 after all, happy memories are good things to own, 
 though sorrow blocks them out and renders them 
 illegible for many, many years. 
 
 I was determined not to invade the wood again, but 
 the mail brought me a letter I was obliged to send 
 on to Claudia. Beata would be in England for 
 Christmas, but she could not face their happiness then 
 or make her children as happy as they ought to be. 
 Would I meet her somewhere and go somewhere with 
 her, she did not care where, so long as the children's 
 Christmas was not spoiled by her sorrow and her black
 
 DECEMBER THE YEAR ENDS 329 
 
 raiment, that she now felt she could never discard any 
 more. This was indeed a puzzle for me, it was years 
 since I had left Hamworth, and, moreover, Jane was 
 promised a holiday at home. Now Jane's home I 
 knew was neither congenial to her or really wanted 
 her at all, but her orthodox parents considered that 
 a family festival should be a family gathering, and 
 so had commanded her presence to complete a most 
 unwilling group of sons and daughters, all of them 
 out in the world on their own, and all pining for some- 
 thing more lively than the dreadful meals and the 
 aunts and uncles and cousins which would be their 
 share of the merry tide. 
 
 Could I seduce Jane from her duty, and could I 
 leave Hamworth? Consultation first with Jane and 
 then with my maid proved that I could do both. Jane 
 had longed to have a real Christmas once in her life, 
 and believing with me that this is quite impossible 
 without children, she and I planned surprises and 
 wrote off at once to the stuffy Birmingham house to 
 say that for once the rule must be broken, for owing 
 to bereavement and sorrow she could not leave the 
 children and could not be spared. 
 
 Jane's folk were what we had always called 
 " superior dowdies " people who had the latest 
 politics, the latest scientific news at their finger-ends. 
 Duty was invariably written with a capital letter, and 
 I was much relieved to find that duty should always 
 come before pleasure in the eyes of Jane's parents,
 
 330 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 an'd that, therefore, while bemoaning her absence from 
 the family board, her duty was so obviously to remain 
 where she was until the children could be united to 
 their bereaved parent, that she was exhorted to put 
 pleasure (?) on one side and remain at her post. I 
 trust no brain-wave or Marconi message fluttered 
 through the air between us and Birmingham and hinted 
 to Jane's parents the unseemly manner in which we 
 both of us received this well-meant letter. I felt 
 certain that a shiver must have passed through the 
 hideous house when Jane skipped like unto some 
 young lamb and proclaimed her joy aloud. 
 
 Now Jane is becoming more youthful, less staid, 
 and, above all, less cocksure, since she has been with 
 us. All her theories are more than excellent, but all 
 the same they do not always work out in practice, and 
 I fancy her letters out to her " young man " are a trifle 
 less matter-of-fact and more loving than they were at 
 first. She has seen Claudia and Lucius together, and 
 I have told her to cultivate their great gift, they can 
 love and show each other they love, without embarrass- 
 ing the lookers-onl:. I know how much unhappiness is 
 caused by taking things as a matter of course, and I 
 have not 'disdained to tell Jane this, and I like to see 
 her eager for the letters, and to feel while she is 
 writing hers in the schoolroom that she slips in a scrap 
 of myrtle from the great tree under the window, and 
 has even kissed the seal before she ran downstairs to 
 put it with my own prosaic epistles in the waiting bag.
 
 DECEMBER THE YEAR ENDS 331 
 
 The children, too, are furnished with stories of the 
 Christmas Child and the Christmas fairies, in whom 
 we one and all most steadfastly believe. What is the 
 use of placing a child in the midst if it means nothing 
 save selfishness and such over-plus of enjoyment that 
 for a month at least the children are unwell and un- 
 happy because they have had and seen and enjoyed 
 themselves too much ? I could not share that Christ- 
 mas myself, I have had too many to bear another one 
 now a but I do know what to do. 
 
 I sent Jane secretly to Dr. Dewdney Paul, at the 
 risk of all Hamworth proclaiming my impending 
 decease or scarlet fever among the chicks, and begged 
 him through her to come by night, and quietly, and 
 hear our plots and plans. 
 
 He was years older even than I, and he recollected 
 our old-time Christmas parties, and he was as a boy 
 when I mentioned what I wanted. We had replen- 
 ished our " Bethlehem " from Jena, and bought 
 " Christ-haar " and other German toys, not forgetting 
 the beautiful star with its twelve pendant wax angels, 
 which turn round with the heat from the candles when 
 they are lighted on the tree, at the base of which the 
 " Bethlehem " always used to stand ! I wonder why 
 more people do not obtain this charming German 
 scene ! I cannot call it a toy. There is the stable, the 
 flight into Egypt, the three kings, and the angels 
 telling the shepherds watching their dear little woolly 
 sheep, and then comes the making of the desert of
 
 332 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 sand, bits of glass for rivers, and heaps of moss for 
 foliage and grass. One must put each scene in its 
 right order, and the climax is the stable and the kings, 
 the black one gorgeous in coloured raiment, while 
 the Child holds out his sweet arms as if to embrace 
 all, black and white alike ! 
 
 Now Dr. Paul was to find us about twenty really 
 nice children from the schools, and they were to be 
 the guests of the children here, cleanliness was the 
 only necessary thing, and then Dr. Paul laughed : 
 ' You are thinking of our own day, surely," he said, 
 "who cannot be clean now we are pursued by the 
 school nurses and school doctors, and while the parents 
 have nothing to do with the children save bring them 
 into the world and then cast them out into the County 
 Council's hands? At any rate, I will find you your 
 twenty girls and boys, mixed, of course, but won't you 
 be at home? If you knew how we all missed your 
 Christmas parties you'd stay and ask me, of that I 
 am very sure." 
 
 "Alas! that I could not," I replied. "Dear Dr. 
 Paul, you shall creep in as Father Christmas once 
 more and help Jane, but I shall be away. You under- 
 stand as none other can how impossible it is for me 
 to bear such a gathering, besides, the children's mother 
 cannot be here either. We are to go somewhere, 
 Heaven alone knows where, but somewhere, where she 
 and I have never been, and pretend there is no 
 Christmas in the world."
 
 DECEMBER-THE YEAR ENDS 333 
 
 " Now that is wrong of both," said the old doctor 
 firmly ; " I can understand you want a different Christ- 
 mas, but none, oh ! that is heathenish, and I shall not 
 help even Miss Jan > here if you talk in such a manner. 
 We shall, I suppose, have the bride and bridegroom 
 here?" 
 
 "Of course," I replied; "and that is yet another 
 reason why I want to be away just then : I must be 
 sad at such a time, I cannot insult the memory of 
 those I loved so dearly, of those I love, by being 
 gay, as if I could still touch their warm and living 
 hands, and I want this first Christmas to be a jewel : 
 they will help with the children, and Philip and 
 Molly and even small Peter will learn the Christmas 
 lesson best if they have to share with other poorer 
 folk." 
 
 " Do you know Oxford ? " asked Dr. Paul in his 
 most brusque manner, as if he had not been listening 
 to me at all, and indeed I do not think he had. 
 
 "Only sufficiently to say I have been there," I 
 replied. 
 
 "Well, now I have a solution for your troubles," 
 he answered gaily ; " I was an Oxford man years and 
 years ago, and what that means only an Oxford man 
 truly knows." 
 
 I cried out, " Oh ! Cambridge, Cambridge ! " and 
 Jane, who hails from Girton, joined in my cry. 
 
 Dr. Paul waved us both aside. "Oh! that for 
 Cambridge," and he snapped his fingers at us. " Don't
 
 334 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 quote the ' Backs,' or Jesus' Gardens in spring, or 
 Trinity, or, indeed, anything, for I know them, one 
 and all even the Saturday flower-market, which I 
 grant you is unsurpassed, but I know a Fellow of 
 Magdalen don't let it out, pray ! and I will beg 
 him to let you both see a scene you will never forget, 
 and that is the Christmas Eve gathering in the old 
 hall, when the boys sing the Pastoral music from the 
 Messiah, when the lights are turned down and the 
 great Christmas-tree is lighted, and the boys sing 
 carols until midnight : then comes the ' Adeste Fideles' 
 and the Magdalen bells ring out. It is forty years 
 since I was there, but I envy you the experience, I 
 assure you, and if I could I would ' up sticks ' and 
 accompany you this very coming tide." 
 
 It sounded to me just what I should like, and I 
 said so warmly, and begged Dr. Paul to " throw physic 
 to the dogs " and come with us. But, of course, he 
 could not : what would Hamworth say, or Mrs. 
 Dewdney Paul, or the many babies who had made up 
 their minds to come to birth at Christmas? No, the 
 Fellow should be duly entreated, and Beata and I, two 
 " lone, lorn females," should e'en go alone. 
 
 ' You need not mind," said the doctor, his eyes 
 twinkling, "it's very, very proper, all the ladies are 
 put up in a gallery by themselves and all the males 
 are in the hall, and you do not meet : you are given 
 'light refreshments' in a species of crypt, and you may 
 obtain a little joy, as you know no one and are un-
 
 DECEMBER-THE YEAR ENDS 335 
 
 known, from watching the weird costumes of the 
 learned dons' ladies, and from the manner in which 
 the ' light refreshments ' disappear, one would think 
 beasts, not ladies, were abroad. I vow in my time one 
 gallant soul came in a tweed skirt, with a low silk 
 bodice, and took off a cricketing cap to disclose a 
 silver star in her hair : you see, one only sees the top 
 half of the ladies from the hall, and I heard from a 
 girl friend she had well ! I won't talk scandal, but 
 you watch the port and sherry and tell me if things 
 are different from what they were in my time." And 
 as Dr. Paul heard the town clock strike, in the clear, 
 aggravating way it always does when one does not 
 want to notice the hour particularly, he ejaculated, 
 " By Jove ! " glanced at his watch, and made off with 
 scarcely another word. 
 
 When I met Beata at the horrible London station 
 my plans were all cut and dried. I had seen the 
 Christmas-tree decorated and the Bethlehem arranged 
 (on paper) for Jane and Claudia to complete in my 
 absence, and they had promised to plant the tree close 
 to my own, now a tall and respectable fir in the field, 
 but I would not stay and help them, neither would I 
 wait for Claudia's return home. 
 
 I 
 
 I cannot, cannot bear Christmas in my own house, 
 and even before Claudia and the children came I had 
 escaped somewhere else, if only for the mere day, and 
 now more than ever was it necessary for me to fly from 
 my own self. I could help Beata, and that was
 
 336 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 another reason for shirking pain, of which I cannot 
 speak, though I can write. 
 
 It was a wan, pale, tired creature in the widow's 
 garb I met, and at first we neither of us spoke : such 
 matters as boxes and travelling gear we left to others, 
 and at once went off to our hotel, from whence we 
 should travel on to Oxford the next day and so carry 
 out Dr. Paul's prescription, as he had now fully 
 arranged for us to do. 
 
 I hardly knew Beata as she sat over the fire and 
 heard all our doings and what we were about to do, so 
 subdued, so quiet and so strangely sweet had she 
 become. But presently she began to tell me of her 
 husband and how he had died, and how glad she was 
 he was free from the tormenting fancies that had 
 carried him hither and thither all the late years of his 
 queer and melancholic life. He realized before he 
 died that these had been simply phantasmagoria, mere 
 shadows passing across his vision, and that he had 
 lost the real in following what he had hoped was the 
 gleam. 
 
 Only Death had shown him the truth, and he was 
 thankful that he could part with life knowing he had 
 children to carry on the dream, and that he would 
 never be tempted to make them stray, as he had 
 done, after every strange god of whom he had ever 
 heard. 
 
 " Light came at eventide to him," said Beata 
 quietly. " I was glad to see his tortured soul released, 

 
 DECEMBER-THE YEAR ENDS 337 
 
 for life of late years had been a torment to him, and 
 alas ! to me. Oh ! he was so sweet, so dear when 
 we were married; so young, so joyous; why could it 
 not have lasted ? The change came so gradually, too, 
 I suppose I should have noticed it and checked him, 
 but I never did until, alas ! alas, it was too late ! " 
 
 I hardly knew what to reply, for I did remember 
 him so very well ; he never had thought of any one 
 save himself, never given an hour to his country's 
 service or a shilling he could help to assist a single 
 soul : he had growled against all governments, cursed 
 the taxes and the laws, and most religions, and passed 
 from one phase to another until one wondered where 
 he would be landed next. 
 
 At first a frank unbeliever in anything he could not 
 see, he became a Deist, then a Spiritualist, then a 
 Roman Catholic, and then, when the many bonds of 
 that creed proved too much for him, he cast them off. 
 
 He was always seeking a way out, and that India 
 had given him, not as he had hoped, but by the hand 
 of Death, which truly for him, at least, held the keys 
 of all the Creeds, and so the curtain had rung down 
 and he lay quiet and alone and silent in that distant 
 land. 
 
 I was glad Beata had been with him, for the last 
 month had evidently been a renewal of their old love, 
 he had praised her for keeping the children free from 
 any tiresome wonderments, and he had begged her, if 
 she could, to put their feet in the old paths, and let
 
 338 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 them look upward not worrying in the least about the 
 future. 
 
 "When the end was nearly there," she said after 
 a pause, "he seemed to be a lad once more in his 
 father's country rectory : he chose the hymns they 
 should sing after supper, and I could see he fancied 
 he made one of the group round the piano at which 
 he had so often scoffed in the old days. He described 
 it all, the quiet, old-world drawing-room, his splendid 
 old father, seated by the fire opposite his mother's 
 empty chair, never sat in since she died, and then 
 the organist from Oxford came in, the candles were 
 lighted, it was nearly Christmas, and all sang the 
 'Adeste Fideles/ which he sang too, as he lay dying, 
 below his panting breath." 
 
 I gasped. " Oh ! Beata, but can you bear it ? " I 
 asked. ".We are to hear that to-morrow night in 
 Magdalen Hall. What has arranged this for us ? Let 
 us stay in town and give up Oxford, for sure am I 
 that you will never stand the strain." 
 
 " And sure am I that there will be no strain at all," 
 replied Beata calmly, " for India and my dear one's 
 death have taught me many things : after all, 'Adeste 
 Fideles,' means only ' Come all ye faithful/ Are you 
 not faithful, am I not, to all we have loved and lost? 
 and if, indeed, there be yet a higher meaning to the 
 words, we may yet reach them, dear friend. He was 
 the last one to be called to receive his penny : ah, as 
 one grows older, or grows higher, things are plainer,
 
 DECEMBER THE YEAR ENDS 339 
 
 and from now on, I, at any rate, mean to work, not 
 wonder and struggle, against the ever-rolling tide." 
 
 I was astounded at it all. Beata's calmness, my 
 own strange feelings, and I said no more for it was 
 time to rest. We were to reach Oxford in time for 
 service in Magdalen Chapel, and I, at any rate, could 
 not afford to bear any risk of over fatigue. Ellen 
 thought that Beata's attitude was unnatural : " Not a 
 tear," said she, " and not as much crape as would cover 
 a box; if it weren't for the cap and collar and cuffs 
 no one would know she was a widder, now you " 
 
 " Now, Ellen," said I, " you must stop at once, 
 different folk have different ideas; my black is a 
 defence against a world I do not want to drag me out 
 of my seclusion : my friend has three young children, 
 and she must not stand between them and the light. 
 Now, old friend, go to bed and dream of Oxford, you 
 are quite a travelled lady, you know, but you have 
 never yet really seen that lovely city of spires." 
 
 " Cambridge is good enough for me," sniffed Ellen. 
 " I settled in two of our children there, I'm none so 
 sure I want to see t' other place," and grumbling, she 
 departed to the dressing-room, for she is never far off 
 from me, for I think she does not care much to 
 let me out of her sight, at all events in a strange 
 place. 
 
 I did not remind her of her sentiments, for Oxford 
 struck her dumb. It was a real Christmastide that 
 year, not too cold, but clear and frosty; the sun was
 
 340 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 out and all the trees were hung with sparkling lines 
 of jewels, for there had been a fog and it had frozen 
 on their limbs; the moon would be getting up later, 
 as it was full ; but it was dark and silent in the chapel 
 when Beata and I went in for the service with the 
 Fellow's card, and sat quiet and awed for the ordinary 
 evening prayer. Ordinary ! Oh no ! such music, 
 such singing could never be that, both were divine, 
 and as the clear boys' voices soared higher and higher 
 and the organ quietly lead them on their way, I believe 
 the angels that watched at Bethlehem came down and 
 repeated the old, old message, that means far more 
 to us older folk than it ever can to those who have 
 still their journeying time before them. 
 
 Not that either Beata or I are orthodox, or would 
 be priest-led, if we could, but the season's story 
 touched us both to tears. There are always shepherds 
 abiding with their flocks by night ! Even as the clear 
 voice gave out the solo I saw the Purbeck Hills and 
 the steel-blue sky, and the glittering stars, and 
 " Shepherd," moving from fold to fold with his 
 lantern, and Kim at his heels to see that all was well. 
 There are always the Faithful on their way some- 
 where, perhaps to the Altar, where they meet, as I 
 fancy they do, those gentle spirits yet near enough to 
 join, or even only to their graves. Yet they are still 
 faithful oh ! I will not forget I will not. I, too, 
 am faithful, and I, too, journey at Christmas, if only 
 to lay my wreaths in place, and recollect with hope
 
 
 DECEMBER-THE YEAR ENDS 341 
 
 and love those who are not here with us ever any 
 more. 
 
 I expected to drop suddenly from my high altitude 
 for the carol festival, but, thank Heaven, it still was 
 possible for us both to stay in the clear and rarified air 
 in which we had lived during the chapel service. 
 
 True, the ladies were queerly clad, severe and dull 
 to look at, and regarded us as something still stranger 
 than themselves, But this did not trouble us. Some saw 
 we were really strangers and gave us a front space, 
 and we could see the boys flitting about and arranging 
 the music, and I could note the tremendous tree, well 
 laden with fruit, that stretched from the floor to the 
 very top of the magnificent and splendid hall. Then 
 the lights sprang out, the well-known organist, whose 
 name is an honoured one, and whose talent is supreme, 
 arrived, and the music began. 
 
 Ah ! let those who speak of music go to Magdalen ! 
 truly then will half the pianos in England be burned 
 and the rest locked up, while heavy fines should be 
 exacted from those who dare profane the name. 
 
 It is the fashion to sneer at Handel, I know, but no 
 one shall do it before me, but soon, far too soon, the 
 " Pastoral " music is over, the lights fade from the 
 hall and then the Christmas-tree blazes forth. We 
 sit and watch the boys and the nobler sex in the hall 
 below, we do not share the " light refreshments," for 
 we prefer the land of dreams. How old is the hall, 
 I wonder : how long have men and boys shared
 
 342 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 this noble feast of light and music? but it does not 
 matter. 
 
 All too soon the feast is over, but the lights are 
 not turned up, we have only the tree and the star to 
 guide us, and presently we have carols. One after 
 the other, some so old no one knows their inception, 
 some so beautiful we are again in tears, we know not 
 why : and then there is a pause. The organist looks 
 at his watch and somehow we all rise : a clock strikes 
 twelve slowly and solemnly, and then once more peals 
 out the " Adeste Fideles." It is Christmas Day, and 
 again and again to a cold and callous world the mes- 
 sage rings out real and true at last. 
 
 It is into a dream-world that we pass in silence': 
 the steps to the gallery are of stone and worn by the 
 travelling feet of many and many a century of men 
 an'd maids, the cloisters are dim and unlighted, and 
 as we make bur way along them an hilarious under- 
 graduate, with a strong German accent (can he be a 
 Rhodes scholar, I wonder?), smacks us on the back 
 and wishes us a happy Christmas and a good New 
 Year. When he sees us he is slightly astonished, he 
 must have taken us for younger, real friends, but we 
 are not offended not we and as we cross the quad 
 and emerge into the High and make for the Bridge, 
 we stand in awe and silence. 
 
 The moon is full and floods the silver river, which 
 now has escaped its banks and covers the meadows as 
 with a glistening shield : every tree is sparkling with
 
 DECEMBER-THE YEAR ENDS 343 
 
 frost jewels, and the Magdalen bells ring out across 
 the night where the stars abound, while we fancy we 
 see the one star, the star of Bethlehem, and our frozen 
 hearts are thawed, and we know that the world must 
 some day be better because a Child is born into the 
 world ! 
 
 I think over all the many happy, the still more 
 miserable, Christmases I have had, and they seem 
 all blended into one on that memorable Christmas Eve 
 at Magdalen. I cannot believe all that one should 
 do, I know, and indeed I never shall, but I can read 
 my own lessons into my life now, and that is quite, 
 quite enough. I think of our children and then of 
 Beata's, doubtless asleep and happy after their 
 festival, and then I think of crowded alleys, horrible 
 attics, and cruelly-built cottages, where even more 
 Christian children are coming into a 'drear and hungry 
 world. 
 
 But I think also that the world is better, far better 
 than it was, and that, at any rate, twenty little rag- 
 amuffins, who will no doubt pick our flowers and jostle 
 us in the streets later on, are happier at Hamworth 
 because of our tree there, and I vow, I vow that if 
 I cannot be light-hearted and happy I will make others 
 so. The dead will know why I do this, they will not 
 reproach me either from heaven, where they may be, 
 or from their quiet graves, where I know all too well 
 they really are. 
 
 Beata is very, very quiet, and indeed the whole
 
 344 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 beautiful city is peaceful on that holy night. There 
 are none of the raucous shrieks and yells of London, 
 which since the hideous Maf eking night has never 
 recovered its balance, and greets every date no 
 matter how sacred with such noises that one half- 
 fancies the animals in the Zoological Gardens are 
 loose. Only the Magdalen bells ring and the quiet 
 folk go home, and the moon shines and I bless Oxford 
 and dear Dr. Paul, and I hope he will have a happy 
 Christmastide, and like the great furry rug we all 
 joined to give him secretly for his Christmas gift. 
 
 I should dearly like to have seen the Christ Church 
 festival and heard the Boar's Head Carol, but I know 
 no one who could have let us in, so we hired a motor 
 and made a pious pilgrimage to a dear and precious 
 village church. 
 
 I was not forgotten, though all else seemed new; 
 one who led that choir met us with tears in his eyes, 
 and he and I stood beside the window that reminds 
 a fleeting generation of one buried out in Brazil, but 
 who is very near to us on this Christmas Day : we lay 
 our violets and Christmas roses down, and then the 
 choir boys come in, and there is a new Rector, a new 
 ritual, oh ! it does not matter, the words are the same, 
 and we are happy in that she is at rest and safe in the 
 harbour where we know that she would be. 
 
 Our Ellen and the kind landlady have made our 
 Christmas table bright and cheery, and there are cards 
 and letters from the bride and bridegroom and the
 
 DECEMBER THE YEAR ENDS 345 
 
 children and even from the sober Jane. I wonder if 
 all our surprises came off, and as we wonder a telegram 
 comes in, our wonders are over^ Jane is overwhelmed 
 by her pretty pink silk and her furs, and the wedded 
 couple are impertinent about their bacon flitch, which 
 we give them now, because we said we knew 'tis the 
 only chance they'd ever have to win it, but the children 
 are ecstatic : the poor ones send us blessings and our 
 own kisses what more can we want or have ? Beata 
 thinks of her Indian grave, I know,-and I of my many, 
 many losses and sorrows ; but we will not be so selfish 
 ever again. 
 
 " Next year," she says, " we will not leave the 
 children. I would not have missed this festival for a 
 lifetime of joys, but it is a jewel to be enshrined in 
 one's memory, from henceforth I do not dwell among 
 the tombs but in the light of the future and you, dear 
 friend ! " and she held out her hand to me and I took 
 it warmly between my own. 
 
 " It was a storm that brought us all together," I 
 replied, " and after a storm comes peace. We cannot 
 look forward far, or at least I cannot, but for that 
 future of which you speak I am ready. I shall join 
 my own and wait for you all. I do not know, I do not 
 care what happens after death, it does not matter : 
 shepherds will always watch their flocks by night and 
 children will be born. Sometimes one entertains an 
 angel unawares : I would have kept my house closed 
 except for the kindly ghosts, had it not been for
 
 346 THE YEAR'S MIND 
 
 Clau'dia and the children, and now life is bright once 
 more. Who knows, too, what may happen, perhaps 
 Peter may wonder, as Molly and Philip did over him, 
 over Claudia's baby ! Oh ! I hope she and Lucius 
 may have a tribe, and that the excellent Jane may wait 
 years before she leaves us." 
 
 " It's past two," said a solemn voice in my ear, " and 
 I'd like to know how you will be to-morrow," and 
 Ellen walks me off to bed, scolding Beata for her 
 thoughtlessness and me for my stupidity in tiring my- 
 self out. But I do not feel half nor a quarter as tired 
 as I have done many and many a year at Hamworth, 
 when my heart refused to rise from the shadows and 
 I could not, would not, look beyond the day's unhap- 
 piness and as my old maid presses her lips to my 
 forehead, a solemn ceremony kept for Christmas and 
 birthdays and some very, very sad days we will now 
 forget, I bless her warmly and turn to sleep. 
 
 One by one they come out of the shadows in my 
 dream the old days, the youth, the strength, the 
 pleasures that once were mine, and all those I have 
 loved so long, and so despairingly, so faithfully : and 
 they and I are once more as we were when we were 
 young. The year ends gradually, quietly, peacefully 
 in this beautiful old city of dreams and hopes of 
 youth and age, and if I envy the lads who will 
 presently pour back into the streets and make them 
 alive, I envy yet more those who built the stately place, 
 and looking down and remembering, smile hopefully
 
 DECEMBER-THE YEAR ENDS 347 
 
 on a future in which they, at any rate, must always 
 share. 
 
 The year ends : the " year's mind " must ever be 
 the same to me now a mixture of joys and sorrows; 
 of remembrance, not of action, but even if so, there 
 are the children and their future and my bride and 
 bridegroom and Beata, so I trust I hope that some 
 day my memory may earn for me the right to join in 
 the " Adeste Fideles " elsewhere, for if I am not faith- 
 ful oh ! loved and lost I am nothing. So let me 
 then go hence and be no more seen. 
 
 January 16, 
 
 THE END
 
 RICHARD CLAY & SONS, LIMITED, 
 
 BRUNSWICK STREET, STAMFORD STREET, S.K., 
 
 AND BUNG AT, SUFFOLK.
 
 SOME PRESS OPINIONS 
 
 ON 
 
 LEAVES FROM A LIFE 
 
 By the Author of "More Leaves from a. Life " 
 
 The World. "Intimate gossip in which most of the outstanding figures 
 in the worlds of art and literature of the last generation, and a good many 
 other notable folks as well, are passed in review with a freedom of comment 
 which ... is in no ordinary degree interesting and diverting . . . 
 emphatically a book to be read." 
 
 The Yorkshire Post. "Full of good stories and happy reminiscences." 
 
 The Morning Post. " What a charming book! ... It is a book such 
 as women write and especially English women with a peculiar verve of 
 observation and humorous half-revelation. ... It is like looking on to a 
 stage with extremely good acting reproducing the epoch of peg-top trousers 
 and crinolines." 
 
 The Observer. "The book is packed with interesting reminiscences." 
 
 The Morning Leader. "There is revealed in these pages a spirit that 
 is always young and lively. . . . She is a female Creevy who never minds 
 what she says. 
 
 The Sunday Chronicle. "A rattling good book; and if I were, say, 
 Mr. Alfred Austin, I would not at all mind being laughed at in such 
 brilliant company, and in so memorable a volume." 
 
 The Pall Mall Gazette. "A most interesting volume about interesting 
 people." 
 
 The Glasgow Herald. "Her memory or her private diary is pro- 
 digious ; she remembers everything, down to the colour of the eyes, or the 
 fashion of wearing the hair, about a good two-thirds of all the famous men 
 and women of the 'fifties and 'sixties, whom she had extraordinary facilities 
 for studying at near hand." 
 
 The Daily Telegraph. "full of human interest.'' 
 
 The Globe. "A book which will be valuable when the literary and 
 artistic history of the period comes to be written." 
 
 Truth. " A most candid and interesting autobiography." 
 Price i os. net 
 
 EVELEIGH NASH 
 
 36 KING STREET, COVENT GARDEN 
 
 LONDON, W.C.
 
 SOME PRESS OPINIONS 
 
 ON 
 
 LEAVES FROM A 
 GARDEN 
 
 By the Author of "Leaves from a. Life " 
 
 The Times. " A sensitive, reflective, intimate book." 
 
 The Birmingham Daily Post. " A quiet and pleasing record 
 of the habits of flowers and human beings in an English 
 country village. ... It is a book worth reading by country 
 people for sound advice, and by townspeople for a whiff of 
 country air and English hedgerows." 
 
 Truth." A charming book." 
 
 The Standard. "The tone of deep feeling pervading this 
 interesting volume will probably meet with a response among 
 many of its readers, tinged as it is with a certain sadness, 
 which is perhaps one of its charms. . . . Her descriptions of 
 scenery, of woods, lanes, or birds, show the hand of an artist, 
 and are well backed by the illustrations." 
 
 The Queen. "There is a restful charm about this capital 
 book, which is very acceptable in these days of stress." 
 
 Illustrated. Price IDS. 64. net 
 
 EVELEIGH NASH 
 
 36 KING STREET, COVENT GARDEN 
 
 LONDON, W.C.
 
 By the Author of " Leaves from a. Life. " 
 
 MORE LEAVES FROM 
 A LIFE 
 
 Pall Matt Gazette. "Full of good stories and gossip and amusing 
 reminiscences of all kinds and sorts." 
 
 Glasgow Herald. " It is not only because the characters and events are 
 real, but also because they are made actually to seem so, that the book has 
 a more potent fascination than any roman passionnel." 
 
 Field. " Her power of graphic description is as great as ever." 
 
 Daily Express. " She has met many men and women, seen places and 
 things, observed them intelligently, and is lucky in the possession of a 
 happy knack of reproducing her impressions with grace and fidelity." 
 
 Scotsman. " As frank and lively as ever." 
 
 Evening Standard. "An admirable facility marks all her writing, and 
 carries captive the reader. The present volume lacks nothing of the magic 
 of its forerunners. If anything, it fetters the reader more securely than 
 any of them." 
 
 Illustrated. Price ios. 6d. net 
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 MOST OF THE GAME 
 
 Daily Mail. "Shows no falling off in interest; the old wonderful gift 
 of narrative is here as fresh as ever." 
 
 Liverpool Courier. "The book is full of human interest" 
 
 Manchester Courier. "This is a book that should not be missed, for it 
 
 tells of very human folks, and the pen of the writer is undoubtedly wielded 
 
 with ability." 
 
 Sunday Times. "Admirers of the author's previous books will find in 
 ' Most of the Game ' all the engaging frankness which they are entitled to 
 expect from her." 
 
 Illustrated. Price ios. 6c/. net 
 
 EVELEIGH NASH 
 
 36 KING STREET, COVENT GARDEN 
 
 LONDON, W.C.
 
 SOME AUTOBIOGRAPHIES 
 
 Published by MR. EVELEIGH NASH 
 
 MY PAST 
 
 By the Countess Marie Larisch. 10/6 net 
 
 MY OWN STORY 
 
 By the Ex-Crown Princess of Saxony. 10/6 net 
 
 MY MEMOIRS 
 
 By the Princess Caroline Murat. IS/- net 
 
 MY RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 By the Countess of Cardigan and Lancastre. 10/6 net 
 
 THINGS I CAN TELL 
 
 By Lord Rossmore. 10/6 net 
 
 MY MEMOIRS 
 
 By Madame Steinheil. 10/6 net 
 
 MY MEMORIES 
 
 By the Countess of Munster. 12/6 
 
 FORTY-FIVE YEARS OF MY LIFE 
 
 By Princess Louise of Prussia. 16/- net 
 
 SOME REMINISCENCES 
 
 By Joseph Conrad. 5/- net 
 
 REMINISCENCES OF AN OLD 'UN 
 
 By Frank N. Streatfeild, C.M.G. 7/6 net 
 
 EVELEIGH NASH 
 
 36 King Street, Covent Garden, London, W.C.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
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