ghosts of their own haunting their moonlit gardens; strange, appealing,
faithful companions, kind little friendly beings that journeyed with
them awhile the pilgrimage of the soul.

I often wonder if Teddy misses his little busy playfellow and disciple
as we do; if, perhaps, as he barks over the marsh of a morning, he is
sending him a message. He goes about the place with nonchalant greatness
as of old, and the Maltese cats still rub their sinuous smoke-grey
bodies to and fro beneath his jaws at evening. There is no sign of
sorrow upon him. But he is old and very wise, and keeps strange
knowledge to himself. So, who can say?




XVI

THE ENGLISH COUNTRYSIDE


For the genuine lover of nature, as distinct from the connoisseur of
dainty or spectacular "scenery," nature has always and everywhere some
charm or satisfaction. He will find it no less--some say more--in winter
than in summer, and I have little doubt that the great Alkali Desert is
not entirely without its enthusiasts. The nature among which we spent
our childhood is apt to have a lasting hold on us, in defiance of
showier competition, and I suppose there is no land with soul so dead
that it does not boast itself the fairest under heaven.

I am writing this surrounded by a natural scene which I would not