deal higher than the carriage road.  They passed small fields, subdivided into yet smaller patches, and all very highly cultivated.  And small black and white houses, and small black and white cows, and black and white goats, and dogs, and even cats of the same combination of colour.  Everything was rather small, but everywhere very tidy; nothing out of its place or wasted, and nobody hurrying or idling; all were busy, with a small bustling business, as unlike aggressive English idleness as it was unlike the deceptive, leisurely power of English work.

Denah and Anna looked out of either side of the carriage, and pointed out things to Julia and the two little girls.  Here it was what they called a country seat, a sort of castellated variety of overgrown chalet, surrounded by a wonderful garden of blazing flower-beds and emerald lawns, all set round with rows and rows of plants in bright red pots.  Or there it was a cemetery, where the peaceful aspect made Denah sentimental, and the beauty of the trees drew Anna’s praise.  The two elder ladies paid less attention to what they passed; they contented themselves with leaning back and saying how beautiful the air was, and how refreshing the country.  The girls said that as well; they all agreed six times within the hour that it was a delightful expedition, and they enjoying it much.

In time they came to the wood.  An unpaved road ran through it of soft, deep sand, which deadened every sound; on either hand the trees rose, pines and larch and beech principally, with a few large-leafed shivering poplars here and there.  There was no undergrowth, and few bird songs, only the dim wood aisles stretching away, quiet and green.  Suddenly it seemed to Julia that the world’s horizon had been stretched, the little neatness, the clean, trim brightness, the bustling, industrious toy world was gone; in its place was the twilight of the trees, the silence, the repose, the haunting, indefinable sense of home which is only to be found in these cathedrals of Nature’s making.

“Ah, the wood!” Denah said, with a profound sigh.  “The beautiful wood!  Miss Julia, do you not love it?”

Julia did not assent, but Denah went on quite satisfied, “You cannot love it as I do; I think I am a child of Nature, nothing would please me more than always to live here.”

“You would have to go into the town sometimes,” Julia said, “to buy gloves; the ones you have would not last for ever.”

Denah looked a little puzzled by the difficulty; she had not apparently thought out the details of life in a natural state; but before she could come to any conclusion one of the little girls cried, “Music—­I hear music!”

All the ladies said “Delicious!” together, and “How beautiful!” and Denah, content to ignore Nature, added rapturously, “Music in the wood!  Ah, exquisite! two beauties together!”

Julia echoed the remark, though the music was that of a piano-organ.  The horizon had drawn in again, and the prospect narrowed; the silence was full of noises now, voices and laughter, amidst which the organ notes did not seem out of place.  And near at hand under the trees there were tables spread and people having tea, enjoying themselves in a simple-hearted, noisy fashion, in no way suggestive of cathedral twilight.