The major kept on rubbing his little steel trowel till long after it was dry, and then slowly sheathed it, as if it were a sword, before going thoughtfully on hunting up various specimens of the singular plants that he made his study.
“It’s very curious,” he mused, “very. Women are unmistakably enigmas, and I suppose that things must take their course. Bless me! I must want some of his training. It’s very warm.”
He stopped, took out his handkerchief, a genuine Indian bandanna, that he had brought home himself years ago, and now very soft and pleasant to the touch, but decidedly the worse for wear. He wiped his face, took off his hat, and had a good dab at his forehead, and then, after a few minutes’ search round the bole of a huge beech, whose bark was ornamented with patches of lovely cream and grey lichens, he stopped short to look at a great broad buttress-like root, which spread itself in so tempting a way that it suggested a comfortable garden seat, a great favourite of the major’s. Then, with a smile of satisfaction, the old man sat down, shuffled himself about a little, and finally found it so agreeable, with his back resting against the tree, that he fell into a placid state of musing on the various specimens he had collected; from them he began to think of his niece, then of Lucy Alleyne, and then of Rolph, returning to his niece by a natural sequence, and then thinking extremely deeply of nothing.
It was wonderfully quiet out there in the woods. Now and then a bird chirped, and the harsh caw of a rook, softened by distance, was heard. Anon there came a tap on the ground, as if something had fallen from high up in the big tree, and then, after a pause, there was a rustle and swishing about of twigs and leaves, as something bounded from bough to bough, ran lightly along the bigger branches, and finally stopped, gazing with bright, dark eyes at the sleeping intruder. The latter made no sign, so after a while, the squirrel gave its beautiful, bushy tail a few twitches, uttered a low, impatient sound that resembled the chopping of wood on a block, and then scurried down the bole of the tree, picked up something, and ran off.
Soon after a rabbit came cantering among the leaves, sat up, raising it ears stiffly above its head, drooped its fore paws, and stared in turn at the sleeper, till, gaining confidence from his motionless position, it played about, ran round, gave two or three leaps from the ground, and then proceeded to nibble at various succulent herbs that grew just outside the drip from the branches of the beech.
The rabbit disappeared in turn, and after picking up a worm that had slipped out of the ground, consequent upon the rabbit having given a few scratches, in one place, a round-eyed robin flitted to a low, bare twig of the beech, and sat inspecting the major, as if he were one of the children lost in the wood, and it was necessary to calculate how many leaves it would take to cover him before the task was commenced.
The delicious, scented silence of the wood continued for long enough, and then closely following each other, with a peculiarly silent flight, half-a-dozen grey birds came down a green arcade straight for the great beech, where one of them, with vivid blue edges to its wings, all lined with black, and a fierce black pair of moustachios, set up its loose, speckled, warm grey crest, and uttered a most demonically harsh cry of “schah-tchah-tchah!” taking flight at once, followed by its companions, giving vent to the same harsh scream in reply, and making the major start from his nap, spring up, and stare about.
“Jays!” he cried. “Bless my soul, I must have been asleep.”
He pulled out his watch, glanced at it, muttered something about “a good hour,” which really was under the mark, and then, after a glance at his specimens and a re-arrangement of his creel, he started to trudge back to the Hall, but stopped and hesitated.
“Too far that way,” he said. “I’ll try the road and the common.”