all walked about with grey giants at our feet; and it made the
bright green of the grass, and the cowslips down below, and the top of
the hedge, and Sandy's hair, and everything in the sun and the mist
behind the elder bush which was out of the sun, so yellow--so very
yellow--that just for a minute I really believed about Sandy's
godmother, and thought it was a story come true, and that everything
was turning into gold.

But it was only for a minute; of course I know that fairy tales are
not true. But it was a lovely field, and when we had put our hands to
our eyes and had a good look at it, I said to Sandy, "I beg your
pardon, Sandy, for telling you not to talk with your mouth full. It is
the best field I ever heard of."

"Sit down," said Sandy, doing the honours; and we all sat down under
the hedge.

"There are violets just behind us," he continued. "Can't you smell
them? But whatever you do, don't tell anybody of those, or we shan't
keep our field to ourselves for a day. And look here." He had turned
over on to his face, and Richard and I did the same, whilst Sandy
fumbled among the bleached grass and brown leaves.

"Hyacinths," said Richard, as Sandy displayed the green tops of them.

"As thick as peas," said Sandy. "This bank will be blue in a few
weeks; and fiddle-heads everywhere. There will be no end of ferns. May
to any extent--it's only in bud yet--and there's a wren's nest in
there----" At this point he rolled suddenly over on to his back and
looked up.

"A lark," he explained; "there was one singing its head off, this
morning. I say, Dick, this will be a good field for a kite, won't it?
_But wait a bit_."

After every fresh thing that Sandy showed us in our field, he always
finished by saying, "_Wait a bit"_; and that was because there was
always something else better still.

"There's a brook at the bottom there," he said, "with lots of
fresh-water shrimps. I wonder whether they would boil red. _But wait a
bit_. This hedge, you see, has got a very high bank, and it's worn
into kind of ledges. I think we could play at 'shops' there--_but wait
a bit_."

"It's almost _too_ good, Sandy dear!" said I, as we crossed the field
to the opposite hedge.

"The best is to come," said Sandy. "I've a very good mind not to let
it out till to-morrow." And to our distraction he sat down in the
middle of the field, put his arms round his knees, as if we were
playing at "Honey-pots," and rocked himself backwards