The cocks crowed for the dawn. Already
the moon had sunk behind the western trees. But the valley was
still bathed in its misty, vanishing light. Over the eastern ridge
the gray glimmer of the little day was rising, faintly tinged with
rose. It was time for the broken soldier to seek his covert and
rest till night returned.
So he stepped aside from the road and found a little dell thick
with underwoods, and in it a clear spring gurgling among the ferns
and mosses. Around the opening grew wild gooseberries and golden
broom and a few tall spires of purple foxglove. He drew off his
dusty boots and socks and bathed his feet in a small pool, drying
them with fern leaves. Then he took a slice of bread and a piece of
cheese from his pocket and made his breakfast. Going to the edge
of the thicket, he parted the branches and peered out over the
vale.
Its eaves sloped gently to the level floor where the river loitered
in loops and curves. The sun was just topping the eastern hills;
the heads of the trees were dark against a primrose sky.
Pages:
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81