Looking down the stream, over the railway bridges, we see Green Hill, with the Abbey Manor and its grounds the most prominent feature.  At some little distance to the right of the house is a grassy comb, and at the upper end is the spring to which legend points as the spot where Simon de Montfort was slain, and which still bears the name Battlewell.

Stretched around us are the Cotswolds, and if we take a path, or lane, leading over the hill westward we may, from the brow, behold Malvern’s rugged length and the isolated mass of Bredon.  Further northward, if the atmosphere be clear, we should distinguish the most striking height of the Abberly range, a peak which on one side would almost seem to overhang, and, away beyond, the Clee heights looking down on the beautiful and historic town of Ludlow.

Returning to our boat, we glide beneath the Abbey Manor, with its wooded slopes, and presently we reach Chadbury Lock and Mill.  On a fair and warm day we may rest here in perfect content, listening to the rush of the weir, watching the swallows flit and skim over the calm water and break the glassy surface into circling ripples; or gazing with silent pleasure down the stream as it continues its peaceful course by wood and meadow.

Not far below Chadbury, past Wood Norton—­a country seat of the Duke of Orleans, and by him lately rebuilt—­its deer park and plantations, past flowery banks, and thick beds of rushes haunted by waterfowl, is the village of Fladbury.  Pleasant-looking houses with trim gardens border the river on our right, and beyond are two mills, with the rushing weir between.  That on our left is Cropthorne Mill, now a dwelling-house.

In Fladbury Church are some coats-of-arms in stained glass, said to have come from the Abbey of Evesham.  One shield bears the device of Earl Simon.  There is also a fine altar tomb, inlaid with brasses, bearing the effigies of some members of the Throckmorton family.  The building is architecturally interesting, but the internal effect is marred by the removal of the plaster, thus exposing the rough masonry of “rubble,” and the irregularity is much emphasised by “pointing.”

On the opposite side of the river is Cropthorne, surmounting a steep bank.  Here are many picturesque cottages of timber and thatch, and in this village of orchards, the effect of the street is much heightened if it be seen in the time of the apple-blossom.  In this and the neighbouring parishes we may still find much of that rustic beauty which we have learned to associate with the names of Birket Foster and Mrs. Allingham.

The church contains many points of interest.  As we enter we cannot but be impressed by the simple arches of the Norman nave, the carved pews of mediaeval date, and the Jacobean monuments—­their once gaudy colouring mellowed by age.  Few churches have been treated with such gentle consideration, and rarely do we find the true Gothic feeling so carefully preserved.  A beautiful Saxon cross, intricately carved, and the ancient altar stone, lately discovered buried beneath the floor, are two valued treasures.