But to return to our walk. Leaving the lane and the birds' nests behind, we were soon on the open moor, with the brown of last year's heather around us, and the gorse in brilliant patches of gold scenting the air with its faint peachy smell. Innumerable little mountain springs crossed our path, cutting channels through the peat, and overhung with lady-fern and sedges, and here and there among the furze the shoots of the young bracken were springing green. We cut down a deep gorge into the valley, following the course of a swift stream which was descending with much noise to join the river, and found ourselves at last on a kind of rushy marshland, where deep dykes and high banks told a tale of flooded meadows in winter. It might aptly have been called "The Field of the Cloth of Gold", for the daffodils were growing in such endless profusion that one could have picked for a week without stopping. I filled my basket with infinite satisfaction, and sat down on an old poplar stump to wait for Cathy, who thought she had discovered some new snail-shells in the brook. "What's that house up there?" I asked, pointing to a gray old Tudor building which stood on the side of the crag above, looking down over the valley towards the dim line of the distant sea. "Oh, that's Wyngates," said Cathy, pulling herself up the bank with her hands full of treasures. "It's such a dear old place! Would you like to go and see it? Nobody lives there now, and I know the care-taker. I always think it is such fun to explore an empty house." I had not been over an untenanted home before, so I jumped at the opportunity, and we climbed up the hill-side again to a little iron gate which opened through the hedge from the fields. We found ourselves in an old-world garden such as I had never even imagined. The tall yew hedges had been clipped smooth, with here and there a small window cut in them through which the distant landscape appeared like a picture set in a frame. At either end the trees were fashioned into quaint shapes--peacocks with spreading tails, cocked hats, or ramping lions, all getting a little straggling and untended, but adding a very picturesque feature to the scene. There was a long flagged terrace, with dandelions pushing up between the stones, and roses, grown almost wild, climbing in glorious profusion over the balustrade, while a flight of steps led down to the ladies' pleasaunce, where the narrow grass walks were bordered with box-edgings, and pink daisies and forget-me-nots were trying to struggle through the weeds in the neglected beds. In the centre was a sun-dial with twisted shaft, and an inscription round the capital. We rubbed away the moss which covered the worn letters, and spelt out the words, written in old English characters: "NESCIES + QUA + HORA + VIGILA",