VII
PEACE
A flock of sheep and goats are pasturing on the meadowland above some cliffs which rise abruptly from the sea. To those familiar with the scenery of England the place recalls at once the white cliffs of Dover. The caretakers are a lad and his sister, who have brought with them a younger child. A shepherd dog is their assistant, one of those intelligent animals trained to keep the flock together and to lead it about.
It is noontide of a bright summer day. The sea lies blue and still under the clear sky. The flock no longer graze industriously, but rest in scattered groups. The young people amuse themselves quietly on the grass, and the dog has stretched himself for a nap. Overhead two large sea gulls take their flight through the air.
There is a single reminder here of a time when all was not so peaceful,—the rusty old cannon in the midst. From these uplands a battery once frowned across the Channel, threatening destruction to the approaching enemy. The booming of guns resounded where now is heard only the lowing of cattle and the laughter of children. Happily the cannon has now so long been out of use that it has become a part of the cliff, like one of the rocks. The flock gather about it as a rallying place, and in its black mouth grow tender herbs for the lambs to crop.
No cottage is in sight, and we judge that our young people have brought their flock from a little distance. Two sturdy goats act as beasts of burden in the family, both equipped with saddle and bridle. As they rest now at one side they are the impersonations of docility and dignity, but a hint of mischief lurks in their complacent expressions. One feels decidedly suspicious of the old fellow with the long beard. Twin lambs lying at the cannon's mouth are the softest and daintiest little creatures of the flock. So, evidently, thinks the sheep beside them, gently nosing the woolly back of the one nearest.
The children are of the best type of English villagers, with fresh, sweet, happy faces. All three are well dressed and have the tidy appearance which is the sign of family thrift and prosperity. The girl has her hair brushed back smoothly from her forehead and knotted at the back like a little woman's. She bears herself with a pretty air of motherliness toward her brothers. Like other English village maidens, she is skilled in all sorts of domestic duties and has few idle moments through the day. Her sewing-basket lies beside her on the ground, and while the dog looks after the sheep, she busies herself with her work.
Fr. Hanfstaengl, photo. John Andrew & Son, Sc.
PEACE
National Gallery, London