I remember
there was a very pretty bird at that time called the yellow-hammer - a
bird all a shining yellow, the prettiest of all the birds." He never
saw nor heard that bird now, he assured me.
That was how the old man talked, and I never told him that yellow
hammers could be seen and heard all day long anywhere on the common
beyond the green wall of the elms, and that a lark was singing loudly
high up over our heads while he was talking of the larks he had
listened to sixty-five years ago in the Vale of Aylesbury, and saying
that it was a rare thing to hear that bird now.
III
AS A TREE FALLS
At the Green Dragon, where I refreshed myself at noon with bread and
cheese and beer, I was startlingly reminded of a simple and, I suppose,
familiar psychological fact, yet one which we are never conscious of
except at rare moments when by chance it is thrust upon us.
There are many Green Dragons in this world of wayside inns, even as
there are many White Harts, Red Lions, Silent Women and other
incredible things; but when I add that my inn is in a Wiltshire
village, the headquarters of certain gentlemen who follow a form of
sport which has long been practically obsolete in this country, and
indeed throughout the civilised world, some of my readers will have no
difficulty in identifying it.
