way home, to the presbytery and what passed there for breakfast.

The hill-side rose from the river's bank in a series of irregular
terraces, upheld by rough stone walls. The gnarled old trees bent
towards each other and away like dwarfs and crook-backs dancing a
fantastic minuet; and in the grass beneath them, where the sun shot his
fiery darts and cast his net of shadows, Chloris had scattered
innumerable wildflowers: hyacinths, the colour of the sky; violets, that
threaded the air for yards about with their sentiment-provoking
fragrance; tulips, red and yellow; sometimes a tall, imperial iris; here
and there little white nodding companies of jonquils. Here and there,
too, the dusty-green reaches were pointed by the dark spire of a
cypress, alone, in a kind of glooming isolation; here and there a
blossoming peach or almond, gaily pink, sent an inexpressible little
thrill of gladness to one's heart. The air was sweetened by many
incense-breathing things besides the violets,--by moss and bark, the
dew-laden grass, the moist brown earth; and it was quick with music:
bees droned, leaves whispered, birds called, sang, gossiped, disputed,
and the Rampio played a crystal accompaniment.

John swung onwards at ease, while lizards, with tails that seemed
extravagantly long, fled from before his feet, terrible to them, no
doubt, as an army with banners, for his Turkish slippers, though not in
their pristine youth, were of scarlet leather embroidered in a rich
device with gold. And presently (an experience unusual at that hour in
the olive wood) he became aware of a human voice.

"Ohé! My good men, there! Will you be so kind as to gather me some of
those anemones? Here is a lira for your pains."