“Yes. Leastways he doesn’t write, but he talks beautiful. About stars and things. I can’t understand him half the time, so I just say ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ to keep him company. He is a wonderful man.” “And you must lead a most thrilling life all alone with a poet in that house. Mamma says that the garden was--is very beautiful.” “Yes, it is full of trees and things.” “So wild. Such a free life.” “Free? Well, I don’t know about that. But we have some chickens, only they have to be fed. And there’s the cat. She killed a great big mouse the other day.” “Did she!” “Yes, an’ there’s the chicks that get lost in the grass, I love them, an’ there’s a starling that nests every year in the chimney, and my own mouse which plays in my room at night, an’ ...” God, the boredom of this. “... but sometimes I hate it all.” “It must be horrid for you.” “I’ve had no one else to tell it all to.” “No, of course not. June, here we are in the wood. Do you feel the hollowness of it? For the trees crowd about us, and their branches roof us in slyly, with sly noises that one can just hear. And we seem to be in another world now, for the cart that is creaking along the road outside is so faint, floating through the twigs that urge the sound gently along as they are tickled by the wind. So that we might be on our way to some dark and dangerous spot. June, it is mediæval.” “What’s that?” “It means long ago. But we are happy together, aren’t we? You know, you are the only person I would take with me to Swan’s Wood.” There was Mummy, but she did not count. “Why?” “Because I used to spend so much of my youth at the top there, thinking great thoughts.” “But why only me?” “Surely you know.” “Perhaps I don’t.” “Oh yes, you do.” “When I was little I used to tell everything to a friend I had then. We used to walk in the lane, down at Broadlands. One day she tripped up and cut her leg.” “And I have never told anyone everything.” “Tell me.” “I will some day, it would take too long now. June, are we getting near the top now?” And he would tell her, it would help, though she would not understand. But he would never tell her of his writing, that was too important. “I see light behind the trees.” “We are getting there. This must be near the top of the hill, and you are not a bit out of breath.” “My! an’ here we are. Is that your view? I don’t see much in it, not that it isn’t very pretty though.” “Shall we sit down?” “Yes.” She lets go of his hand and they sit down. “June, give me back your hand, it makes you so much more real.” “There it is, silly.” “And what do you see of my view?” “There are fields an’ trees an’ the river an’ behind that the hill with the waterworks’ tower an’ to the right there is the town with the Abbey, no more than that.” “That is all gone for me, anyway. June, my hand is so comfortable in yours.” “Is it?” “Yes. Your hand is warm and so strong. But it is only just big enough to hold mine.” “Shall we change round?”