Under the next tree a fluent Cockney lad of sixteen or eighteen
years was declaiming his bitter experiences with the Salvation Army.
He had been sheltered in one of its beds which was not to his taste,
and it had found employment for him which he had to walk twenty-two
miles to get, and which was not to his liking when he did get it. A
meeting of the Salvation Army at a little distance rendered his
speech more interesting, as its points were repeated and denied as
fast as made.
Of course there were religious groups and temperance groups, and
groups devoted to the tearing down or raising up of most things
except the Government; for on that day there were no Anarchist or
Socialist shouters, as is ordinarily the case.
As we strolled down one of the broad roads under the shade of the
noble trees, we saw the sun setting in a red-gold haze; a glory of
vivid colour made indescribably tender and opalescent by the kind of
luminous mist that veils it; a wholly English sunset, and an
altogether lovely one. And quite away from the other knots of
people, there leaned against a bit of wire fence a poor old man
surrounded by half a dozen children and one tired woman with a
nursing baby. He had a tattered book, which seemed to be the story
of the Gospels, and his little flock sat on the greensward at his
feet as he read.
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