United States or Libya ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Green," said Vane. "Softened by toast, floating in Devonshire butter and covered with wortleberry jam; mellowed by saffron cake Binks will complete the conquest. Then will come the crucial moment. No one, not even she, can part me from my dog. To have Binks she must have me. . . . What do you think of it as a game only, you know?" Mrs. Green laughed.
Ling and wortleberry too were moorland visitors in the valley, and the bog heather already budded. Here was one of the many favorite resting-places of Joan, and hither she came on a rare morning in mid June at the wish of another person.
My garden is surrounded by cornfields and meadows, and beyond are great stretches of sandy heath and pine forests, and where the forests leave off the bare heath begins again; but the forests are beautiful in their lofty, pink-stemmed vastness, far overhead the crowns of softest gray-green, and underfoot a bright green wortleberry carpet, and everywhere the breathless silence; and the bare heaths are beautiful too, for one can see across them into eternity almost, and to go out on to them with one's face towards the setting sun is like going into the very presence of God.
Incidentally it's been played before but it never loses its charm or its danger. . . ." He gave a short laugh. "My first card is your tea. Toast, Mrs. Green, covered with butter supplied by your sister in Devonshire. Hot toast in your priceless muffin dish running over with butter: and wortleberry jam. . . . Can you do this great thing for me?" Mrs. Green nodded her head.
"The butter only came this morning, Mr. Vane, sir. And I've got three pounds of wortleberry jam left. . . ." "Three pounds should be enough," said Vane after due deliberation. "And then I've got a saffron cake," went on the worthy woman. "Fresh made before it was sent on by my sister. . . ." "Say no more, Mrs. Green. We win hands down all along the line.
In my ignorance I thought the exposure to all weathers, and privation, and the first frost of winter would bring me my release quickly. But they did not. They gave me new life instead. I came out in spring, and I begged my way to Abinger Forest, and nearly starved there; but I did not mind. Have you ever been in Abinger Forest in the spring when the wortleberry is out?
I had decided to go to a water-mill belonging to the Man of Wrath which lies far away in a clearing, so far away and so lonely and so quiet that the very spirit of peace seems to brood over it for ever; and all the way the wortleberry carpet was thick and unbroken. Never were the pines more pungent than after the long heat, and their rosy stems flushed pinker as I passed.
Word Of The Day