when they can take to the open road I do not know. The other morning I read of a man who had paid a fabulous price for a painting by Corot and I could not help wondering what the same man would have paid for a real meadow in the shadow of purple mountains. Once I viewed an exhibition of paintings by the old Dutch masters. Podgy white faces, thick necks, sullen expressions, putty-like cheeks, sombre backgrounds, ill-fitting clothes that seemed to choke the wearers, a portraitgallery of monstrosities valued at millions. It took me long months to forget those nightmares. It almost spoiled my summer. And I rushed out of the museum and gazed at the sky wherein some small fleecy clouds for all the world like lambs were chasing each other about. What a pity it is that so few people are capable of being appraisers. Most of us scarcely know the value of anything."
For some time they sat in silence. On the other side of the road a cow in a field was mooing contentedly.
"Cows have one advantage over people,"
