meadows, with the two elms beside, an’ the tall ’ouse near with Virginny creeper all over it, red as any bonfire . . . . an’ them swallers a-sweepin’ an’ a-swoopin’ about over the shiny water in the front, as would be like a glass, to show all up. Or up an’ down the High Street, too, they’d be, flickerin’ back an’ forth them old red, ruddy ’ouses—as ’ud glow, come sunset, just as rich! You don’t see none such ’ere—seems as if the very ’ouses was ripe at ’Ome, don’t it?” she said regretfully, “an’ the air too—kind o’ sleepy an’ sunny-like, an’ a little bit thick an’ soft. Here, it alwus ’as a kind o’ thinness, to my taste, an’ the tang an’ tart o’ the sea’s got in it.”
“We ’ad a castle, an’ it were by the sea,” chanted Mrs. Stone, in her turn. “A round grey tower it ’ad got, with a gold bird upon it, fer to tell the wind, an’ it’s there as the swallers used fer to gether come the hautumn, fer to go hover the seas. Aye, I did love for to watch ’em, when I were a little ’un! My clemaytis come from the Castle garding,” she added proudly. “An’ all the rest o’ the garding, what time them birdies was a-getherin’, ’ud be all so drowsy like, an’ still . . . wi’ the bees a-hummin’ an’ the sun a-sunnin’, an’ the air so ca’m an’ all; an’ the ripe green figs on the fig-tree in the moat all a-tied up in little white musling bags, fear o’ the wopses” (wasps), “an’ the borders all Michaelmas daisies an’ goldy-rod—an’ one big lemming verbena, too, there was, wi’ little lilic flowers . . . aye, I can smell it still, that smell, though tis’ forty-five year old. . . . That’s why I got so much daisy in my garding, dear. I didn’t ’ave so much goldy-rod, ’cause purple is nat’ral hautumn colour, ain’t it?”
