The grass in them was not
plentiful, but the flowers were many; in the spring the orchis sent up
its beautiful purple, and in the heat of summer the bird's-foot lotus
flourished in the sunny places. Farther up, nearer the wood, the lane
became hollow--worn down between high banks, at first clothed with fern,
and then, as the hill got steeper, with fir trees.
Where firs are tall and thick together the sunbeams that fall aslant
between them seem to be made more visible than under other trees, by the
motes or wood dust in the air. Still farther the banks became even
steeper, till nothing but scanty ash stoles could grow upon them, the
fir plantations skirting along the summit. Then suddenly, at a turn, the
ground sank into a deep hollow, where in spring the eye rested with
relief and pleasure on the tops of young firs, acre after acre, just
freshly tinted with the most delicate green. From thence the track went
into the wood.
By day all through the summer months there was always something to be
seen in the lane--a squirrel, a stoat; always a song-bird to listen to,
a flower or fern to gather. By night the goatsucker visited it, and the
bat, and the white owl gliding down the slope. In winter when the clouds
hung low the darkness in the hollow between the high banks, where the
light was shut out by the fir trees, was like that of a cavern. It was
then that night after night a strange procession wended down it.
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