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low round hills on my right hand, while on my left I had a green
valley with other low round green hills beyond it. The valley had a
marshy stream with sedgy margins and occasional clumps of alder and
willow trees. It was the end of a hot midsummer day; the sun went
down a vast globe of crimson fire in a crystal clear sky; and as I was
going east I was obliged to dismount and stand still to watch its setting.
When the great red disc had gone down behind the green world I
resumed my way but went slowly, then slower still, the better to enjoy
the delicious coolness which came from the moist valley and the beauty
of the evening in that solitary place which I had never looked on before.
Nor was there any need to hurry; I had but three or four miles to go to
the small old town where I intended passing the night. By and by the
winding road led me down close to the stream at a point where it
broadened to a large still pool. This was the ford, and on the other side
was a small rustic village, consisting of a church, two or three
farm-houses with their barns and outbuildings, and a few
ancient-looking stone cottages with thatched roofs. But the church was
the main thing; it was a noble building with a very fine tower, and from
its size and beauty I concluded that it was an ancient church dating

back to the time when there was a passion in the West Country and in
many parts of England of building these great fanes even in the
remotest and most thinly populated parishes. In this I was mistaken
through having seen it at a distance from the other side of the ford after
the sun had set.
Never, I thought, had I seen a lovelier village with its old picturesque
cottages shaded by ancient oaks and elms, and the great church with its
stately tower looking dark against the luminous western sky.
Dismounting again I stood for some time admiring the scene, wishing
that I could make that village my home for the rest of my life,
conscious at the same time that is was the mood, the season, the
magical hour which made it seem so enchanting. Presently a young
man, the first human figure that presented itself to my sight, appeared,
mounted on a big carthorse and leading a second horse by a halter, and
rode down into the pool to bathe the animals' legs and give them a
drink. He was a sturdy-looking young fellow with a sun-browned face,
in earth-coloured, working clothes, with a small cap stuck on the back
of his round curly head; he probably imagined himself not a
bad-looking young man, for while his horses were drinking he laid over
on the broad bare backs and bending down studied his own reflection in
the bright water. Then an old woman came out of a cottage close by,
and began talking to him in her West Country dialect in a thin
high-pitched cracked voice. Their talking was the only sound in the
village; so silent was it that all the rest of its inhabitants might have
been in bed and fast asleep; then, the conversation ended, the young
man rode out with a great splashing and the old woman turned into her
cottage again, and I was left in solitude.
Still I lingered: I could not go just yet; the chances were that I should
never again see that sweet village in that beautiful aspect at the twilight
hour.
For now it came into my mind that I could not very well settle there for
the rest of my life; I could not, in fact, tie myself to any place without
sacrificing certain other advantages I possessed; and the main thing was
that by taking root I should deprive myself of the chance of looking on

still other beautiful scenes and experiencing other sweet surprises. I
was wishing that I had come a little earlier on the scene to have had
time to borrow the key of the church and get a sight of the interior,
when all at once I heard a shrill voice and a boy appeared running
across the wide green space of the churchyard. A second boy followed,
then another, then still others, and I saw that they were going into the
church by the side door. They were choir-boys going to practice. The
church was open then, and late as it was I could have half an hour
inside before it was dark! The stream was spanned by an old stone
bridge above the ford, and going over it I at once made my way to the