the earth; so deep, and so out of the way, that the bad bogies can
hardly find it out. The name of the place is Vendale; and if you
want to see it for yourself, you must go up into the High Craven,
and search from Bolland Forest north by Ingleborough, to the Nine
Standards and Cross Fell; and if you have not found it, you must
turn south, and search the Lake Mountains, down to Scaw Fell and
the sea; and then, if you have not found it, you must go northward
again by merry Carlisle, and search the Cheviots all across, from
Annan Water to Berwick Law; and then, whether you have found
Vendale or not, you will have found such a country, and such a
people, as ought to make you proud of being a British boy.

So Tom went to go down; and first he went down three hundred feet
of steep heather, mixed up with loose brown grindstone, as rough as
a file; which was not pleasant to his poor little heels, as he came
bump, stump, jump, down the steep. And still he thought he could
throw a stone into the garden.

Then he went down three hundred feet of lime-stone terraces, one
below the other, as straight as if a carpenter had ruled them with
his ruler and then cut them out with his chisel. There was no
heath there, but -

First, a little grass slope, covered with the prettiest flowers,
rockrose and saxifrage, and thyme and basil, and all sorts of sweet
herbs.

Then bump down a two-foot step of limestone.

Then another bit of grass and flowers.