'Rather indiscriminate in its action,' observed Rollo.
'The clearance a hurricane makes in a forest,' Mr. Falkirk went on, 'is generally in the tree tops. The ground is left a wreck.'
'Any system of clearing that I know, brings the trees to the ground,' said Wych Hazel. 'But I mean—I like the woods dearly as they are, Mr. Falkirk; but if I meddled with them, then I would have something to shew for it. I would have thoughts instead of the trees, and vistas full of visions. If anything is cut here, it ought to be in a broad hurricane track right down to the West, where
"The wind shall seek them vainly, and the sun
Gaze on the vacant space for centuries."
I do not like fussing with such woods.'
'What thought is expressed by a wide system of devastation?' asked Rollo, facing her.
'Power. Do not you like power, Mr. Rollo?' she said with a demure arch of her eyebrows.
Rollo bit his lips furtively but vigorously, and then demanded to know if Napoleon was her favourite character in history.
'No,' said Wych Hazel—'he did not know what to do with his power when he had it. A very common mistake, Mr. Rollo, you will find.'
'Don't make it,' said he, smiling.