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Breaker。 It closed with an appeal to Buff Orpington breeders to raise and
ever raise the standard； bidding them remember； in the midst of a low…
minded and sordid civilisation； that the rose comb should be small and
neat； firmly set on； with good working； a nice spike at the back lying well
down to head； and never； under any circumstances； never sticking up。
This adjuration somewhat alarmed us as Phoebe and I had been giving our
Buff Orpington cockerel the most drastic remedies for his languid and
prostrate comb。
Coming home we alighted from the trap to gather hogweed for the
rabbits。 I sat by the wayside lazily and let Phoebe gather the appetising
weed； which grows along the thorniest hedges in close proximity to nettles
and thistles。
Workmen were trudging along with their luncheon…baskets of woven
bulrushes slung over their shoulders。 Fields of ripening grain lay on
either hand； the sun shining on their every shade of green and yellow；
bronze and orange； while the breeze stirred the bearded barley into a
rippling golden sea。
Phoebe asked me if the people I had left behind at the Hydropathic
were my relatives。
〃Some of them are of remote consanguinity；〃 I responded evasively；
and the next question was hushed upon her awe…stricken tongue； as I
intended。
〃They are obeying my wish to be let alone； there's no doubt of that；〃 I
was thinking。 〃For my part； I like a little more spirit； and a little less
〃letter〃！〃
As the word 〃letter〃 flitted through my thoughts； I pulled one from my
pocket and glanced through it carelessly。 It arrived； somewhat tardily；
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only last night； or I should not have had it with me。 I wore the same
dress to the post…office yesterday that I wore to the Hen Conference to…day；
and so it chanced to be still in the pocket。 If it had been anything I valued；
of course I should have lost or destroyed it by mistake； it is only silly；
worthless little things like this that keep turning up and turning up after
one has forgotten their existence。
〃You are a mystery！〃 ＇it ran。＇ 〃I can apprehend； but not comprehend
you。 I know you in part。 I understand various bits of your nature； but
my knowledge is always fragmentary and disconnected； and when I
attempt to make a whole of the mosaics I merely get a kaleidoscopic effect。
Do you know those geographical dissected puzzles that they give to
children？ You remind me of one of them。
〃I have spent many charming （and dangerous） hours trying to 〃put you
together〃； but I find； when I examine my picture closely； that after all I've
made a purple mountain grow out of a green tree； that my river is running
up a steep hillside； and that the pretty milkmaid； who should be wandering
in the forest； is standing on her head with her pail in the air
〃Do you understand yourself clearly？ Or is it just possible that when
you dive to the depths of your own consciousness； you sometimes find the
pretty milkmaid standing on her head？ I wonder！〃 。 。 。
Ah； well； it is no wonder that he wonders！ So do I； for that matter！
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The Diary of a Goose Girl
CHAPTER XII
July 17th。
Thornycroft Farm seems to be the musical centre of the universe。
When I wake very early in the morning I lie in a drowsy sort of dream；
trying to disentangle； one from the other； the various bird notes； trills； coos；
croons； chirps； chirrups； and warbles。 Suddenly there falls on the air a
delicious； liquid； finished song； so pure； so mellow； so joyous； that I go to
the window and look out at the morning world； half awakened； like
myself。
There is I know not what charm in a window that does not push up；
but opens its lattices out into the greenness。 And mine is like a little
jewelled door； for the sun is shining from behind the chimneys and
lighting the tiny diamond panes with amber flashes。
A faint delicate haze lies over the meadow； and rising out of it； and
soaring toward the blue is the lark； flinging out that matchless matin song；
so rich； so thrilling； so lavish！ As the blithe melody fades away； I hear
the plaintive ballad…fragments of the robin on a curtsying branch near my
window； and there is always the liquid pipe of the thrush； who must quaff
a fairy goblet of dew between his songs； I should think； so fresh and
eternally young is his note。
There is another beautiful song that I follow whenever I hear it；
straining my eyes to the treetops； yet never finding a bird that I can
identify as the singer。 Can it be the …
〃Ousel…cock so black of hue； With orange…tawny bill〃？
He is called the poet…laureate of the primrose time； but I don't know
whether he sings in midsummer； and I have not seen him hereabouts。 I
must write and ask my dear Man of the North。 The Man of the North； I
sometimes think； had a Fairy Grandmother who was a robin； and perhaps
she made a nest of fresh moss and put him in the green wood when he was
a wee bairnie； so that he waxed wise in bird…lore without knowing it。 At
all events； describe to him the cock of a head； the glance of an eye； the tip…
up of a tail； or the sheen of a feather； and he will name you the bird。
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Near… sighted he is； too； the Man of the North； but that is only for people。
The Square Baby and I have a new game。
I bought a doll's table and china tea…set in Buffington。 We put it
under an apple…tree in the side garden； where the scarlet lightning grows
so tall and the Madonna lilies stand so white against the flaming
background。 We built a little fence around it； and every afternoon at tea…
time we sprinkle seeds and crumbs in the dishes； water in the tiny cups；
drop a cherry in each of the fruit…plates； and have a the chantant for the
birdies。 We sometimes invite an 〃invaleed〃 duckling； or one of the baby
rabbits； or the peacock； in which case the cards read：…
Thornycroft Farm。 The pleasure of your company is requested at a
The Chantant Under the Apple Tree。 Music at five。
It is a charming game； as I say； but I'd far rather play it with the Man
of the North； he is so much younger than the Square Baby； and so much
more responsive； too。
Thornycroft Farm is a sweet place； too； of odours as well as sounds。
The scent of the hay is for ever in the nostrils； the hedges are thick with
wild honeysuckle； so deliciously fragrant； the last of the June roses are
lingering to do their share； and blackberry blossoms and ripening fruit as
well。
I have never known a place in which it is so easy to be good。 I have
not said a word； nor scarcely harboured a