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Updated: May 22, 2025
When Harvey paused beside her she gave him a startled smile, but was at once herself again. 'Do you care for that? he asked, indicating the landscape. 'I can't be enthusiastic about it. 'Nor I. A bit of ploughed field in the midlands gives me more pleasure. 'It was beautiful once. 'Yes; before London breathed upon it. Do you remember the view from Cam Bodvean? 'Oh, indeed I do!
From his windows he looked upon the larch-clad slopes of Cam Bodvean; their beauty only reminded him of grander and lovelier scenes in far-off countries. From time to time the wanderer thus awoke in him, and threw scorn upon the pedantries of a book-lined room.
There had been rain through the night; a grey mist still clung about the topmost larches of Cam Bodvean, and the Eifel summits were densely wrapped. But the sun and breeze of spring promised to have their way; to drive and melt the clouds, to toss white wavelets on a blue sea, to make the gorse shine in its glory, and all the hills be glad.
They were then at the base of Cam Bodvean, and before them rose steep mountain glades. Mrs. Abbott gazed upwards with unspoken delight. 'There are no paths, said Harvey. 'It's honest woodland. Some day it will be laid out with roads and iron benches, with finger-posts, "To the summit". 'You think so? 'Why, of course. It's the destiny of every beautiful spot in Britain.
Abbott for a walk tomorrow morning, she said in private; 'you must have so many things to talk about by yourselves. 'I don't know that we have, Harvey returned, looking at her with some surprise. 'I want to hear a little more about those youngsters, that's all. Mrs. Abbott wished to climb Cam Bodvean the great hill, clad in tender green of larch-woods, which overlooked the town.
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