Every tree is a picture, each leaf is as fresh and clean as the
rain-washed air of the morning. From the low meadows the perfume of
the hay is brought up by the languid breeze. Amber oat-fields are
ripening in the sun and in the corn-fields there is a sense of the
gathering force of life as the sturdy plants lift themselves higher
and higher during
_"The long blue solemn hours, serenely flowing
Whence earth, we feel, gets steady help and good."_
Many a tourist comes home to a land like this, weary and penniless,
like Sir Launfal after his fruitless quest, to discover that the grail
of health and rest and beauty which he sought afar so strenuously is
most easily and readily found at home.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "CURVES WHICH ADD MUCH TO ITS WILD BEAUTY" (p. 23)]
Ceaselessly up and down the old road passes the pageant of the year,
never two days the same, especially at this season. In the middle of
the road is a dirt wagon-track, on either side of which is a broad
belt of grass, flowers, shrubs and small trees till you come to the
fence. Beyond one fence the thick woods has a heavy undergrowth; over
the other is a well-wooded pasture. On the south side, between the
road and the fence there is a little brook, sometimes with a high,
mossy and timbered bank, sometimes completely hidden by tall grasses.
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