" One of these times I'll lure him down
for a Saturday to Monday and let him find out what the country really
is--let him hear it. He is becoming too much of a dreamer: it will
do him good, wake him up a bit. The corncrake after awhile stopped
quite suddenly with a jerk, and for quite five minutes there was
silence.
"If this continues for another five," I said to myself, "I'll be
asleep." I felt it coming over me. I had hardly murmured the words
when the cow turned up again. I should say she had been somewhere
and had had a drink. She was in better voice than ever.
It occurred to me that this would be an opportunity to make a few
notes on the sunrise. The literary man is looked to for occasional
description of the sunrise. The earnest reader who has heard about
this sunrise thirsts for full particulars. Myself, for purposes of
observation, I have generally chosen December or the early part of
January. But one never knows. Maybe one of these days I'll want a
summer sunrise, with birds and dew-besprinkled flowers: it goes well
with the rustic heroine, the miller's daughter, or the girl who
brings up chickens and has dreams. I met a brother author once at
seven o'clock in the morning in Kensington Gardens. He looked half
asleep and so disagreeable that I hesitated for awhile to speak to
him: he is a man that as a rule breakfasts at eleven. But I
summoned my courage and accosted him.
Pages:
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60