The astonishing warmth and sunshine of the month had
brought out a shimmer of spring everywhere, reddened the great heads
of the oaks, and set the sycamore buds shining like jewels in the
pale blue. There was an endless chatter and whirr of wood-pigeons in
the high tree-tops, and underfoot the anemones and violets were busy
pushing their gentle way through the dead leaves of autumn. The
Squire's beechwoods were famous in the neighbourhood, and he was
still proud of them; though for many years past they had gone
unnoticed to decay, and were in some places badly diseased.
To Elizabeth, in an artistic mood--the mood which took her in town
to see exhibitions of Brabazon or Steer--the woods were fairyland.
The high slender oak of the middle wood, the spreading oak that
lived on its borders, the tall columnar beech feathering into the
sky, its grey stem shining as though by some magic property in the
beautiful forest twilight--the gleams and the shadows, the sounds
and scents of the woodland world--she could talk or write about
these things as poetically, and as sincerely, as any other educated
person when put to it; but on this occasion, it has to be said
frankly, she was thinking of nothing but aeroplanes and artillery
waggons.
Pages:
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367