ted a dozen films," said Dick. "I
believe you ought to have a special lens for these nature dodges. Your
kodak won't take nearer than seven feet off. Never mind, the ones of the
Mater and the house and the village are stunning, and you'll get some
good snap-shots when we go over Carnton Fell to the sheep-counting."

But to return to our walk. Leaving the lane and the birds' nests behind,
we were soon on the open moor, with the brown of last year's heather
around us, and the gorse in brilliant patches of gold scenting the air
with its faint peachy smell. Innumerable little mountain springs crossed
our path, cutting channels through the peat, and overhung with
lady-fern and sedges, and here and there among the furze the shoots of
the young bracken were springing green. We cut down a deep gorge into
the valley, following the course of a swift stream which was descending
with much noise to join the river, and found ourselves at last on a kind
of rushy marshland, where deep dykes and high banks told a tale of
flooded meadows in winter. It might aptly have been called "The Field of
the Cloth of Gold", for the daffodils were growing in such endless
profusion that one could have picked for a week without stopping. I
filled my basket with infinite satisfaction, and sat down on an old
poplar stump to wait for Cathy, who thought she had discovered some new
snail-shells in the brook.

"What's that house up there?" I asked, pointing to a gray old Tudor
building which stood on the side of the crag above, looking down over
the valley towards the dim line of the distant sea.

"Oh, that's Wyngates," said Cathy, pulling herself up the bank with her
hands full of treasures. "It's such a dear old place! Would you like to
go and see it? Nobody lives there now, and I know the care-taker. I
always think it is such fun to explore an empty house."

I had not been over an untenanted home before, so I jumped at the
opportunity, and we climbed up the hill-side again to a little iron gate
which opened through the hedge from the fields. We found ourselves in an
old-world garden such as I had never even imagined. The tall yew hedges
had been clipped smooth, with here and there a small window cut in them
through which the distant landscape appeared like a picture set in a
frame. At either end the trees were fashioned into quaint
shapes--peacocks with spreading tails, cocked hats, or ramping lions,
all getting a little straggling and untended, but a