silent but for the roar of the Wrellis and the shout of the little
stream. Then I turned homewards; and as I went up and over the hill
and lost the sight of the village, I saw the road whiten and harden
and gradually broaden out till the tracks of wheels appeared; and it
went afar to take the young men of Wrellisford into the wide ways of
the earth--to the new West and the mysterious East, and into the
troubled South.

And that night, when the house was still and sleep
was far off, hushing hamlets and giving ease to cities, my fancy
wandered up that aimless road and came suddenly to Wrellisford. And
it seemed to me that the travelling of so many people for so many
years between Wrellisford and John o' Groat's, talking to one
another as they went or muttering alone, had given the road a voice.
And it seemed to me that night that the road spoke to the river by
Wrellisford bridge, speaking with the voice of many pilgrims. And
the road said to the river: 'I rest here. How is it with you?'

And the river, who is always speaking, said: 'I rest nowhere from
doing the Work of the World. I carry the murmur of inner lands to
the sea, and to the abysses voices of the hills.'

'It is I,' said the road, 'that do the Work of the World, and take
from city to city the rumour of each. There is nothing higher than
Man and the making of cities. What do you do for Man?'

And the river said: 'Beauty and song are higher than Man. I carry
the news seaward of the first song of the thrush after the furious
retreat of winter northward, and the first timid anemone learns from
me that she is safe and that spring has truly come. Oh but the song