I feel that she's right. I must take a firm stand with my relatives. I cannot be blown about by every breath of their doctrine. Besides, my family's views differ. Uncle Jasper says,—
'The general public is at its best in Oxford and Canterbury.'
'At Epsom or Ascot,' my brother asserts.
'Hunting,' says daddy.
'At early celebration on Easter Day,' says Aunt Constance, with eyes like a Murillo Madonna.
But I like the general public, always, everywhere. It sort of twinkles at one, so I shall tell about the Hickley woods and hope that it will like them just as much as I do.
Oh, if only I could get the splendour of the woods down on my paper—the flaming beeches in the autumn, the fairyland of hoar frost later on, the gradual waking of the trees and birds and flowers in the spring, the scent of clover, and the sheets of daffodills, the mist of bluebells and the clouds of lilies. I know where the earliest primroses blow and the hedge where the birds build first. I could show you where to find the biggest blackberries and the bit of bog covered with the kingcups and milkmaids. There are ant hills, too, and a wasps' nest in a hollow tree. The little paths and lanes are carpeted with moss and the undergrowth is sweet with honeysuckle. The woods are always lovely, but in the evening they grow 'tulgy,' and the trees take fantastic shapes and the mossy lanes seem hushed and filled with mystery. When I was little I used to be glad then that the boys were with me, though I wouldn't have admitted a creepy feeling down my spine to any one but father. The beautiful Hickley woods!
They have a strange effect upon me. They seem to 'wash' my mind. I never found it easy to be obedient, my bit of Irish blood always making me 'agin the government.' I've got claws inside me, and feathers underneath my skin that get ruffled when I'm crossed. So when I was little and rebellious I always ran out of the house and across the garden into the woods. And sometimes Ross would come flying after me with comfort and advice.
'Why do you always run out in the woods Meg, when you're naughty?'
''Cos they wash me.'