Our usual walk is down the hill to the north, toward the shady route
that leads by the edge of the canal to Meaux. We go along the fields,
down the long hill until we strike into a footpath which leads through
the woods to the road called "Paves du Roi" and on to the canal, from
which a walk of five minutes takes us to the Marne. After we cross the
road at the foot of the hill there is not a house, and the country is so
pretty--undulating ground, in every tint of green and yellow. From the
high bridge that crosses the canal the picture is--well, is
French-canally, and you know what that means--green-banked,
tree-shaded, with a towpath bordering the straight line of water, and
here and there a row of broad long canal-boats moving slowly through the
shadows.
By the time I get back I am ready for breakfast. You know I never could
eat or drink early in the morning. I have my coffee in the orchard
under a big pear tree, and I have the inevitable book propped against
the urn. Needless to say I never read a word. I simply look at the
panorama. All the same I have to have the book there or I could not
eat, just as I can't go to sleep without books on the bed.
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