up out of the
fen. It is a pretty place, the quarry; it is all grass-grown now, and
is full of small dingles covered with hawthorns. It is a great place
for tramps to camp in, and half the dingles have little grey circles in
them where the camping fires have been lit. I did not mind that
evidence of life, but I did not like the cast-off clothing, draggled
hats, coats, skirts, and boots that lay about. I never can fathom the
mystery of tramps' wardrobes. They are never well-dressed exactly, but
wherever they encamp they appear to discard clothing enough for two or
three persons, clothing which, though I should not personally like to
make use of it, still appears to be serviceable enough. I suppose it is
a part of the haphazard life of the open air, and that if a tramp gets
an old coat given him which is better than his own, he just leaves the
old one behind him at the next halting-place.

The chalk-pit to-day was full of cowslips and daisies, the former in
quite incredible profusion. I suppose it is a cowslip year. The common
plants seem to have cycles, and almost each year has a succession of
characteristic flowers, which have found, I suppose, the particular
arrangements of the season suit them; or rather, I suppose that an
outburst of a particular flower in a particular year shows that the
previous year was a good seeding-time. This year has been remarkable
for two plants so far, a sort of varnished green ground-weed, with a
small white flower, and a dull crimson dead-nettle; both of them have
covered the ground in places in huge patches. This is both strange and
pleasant, I think.

I loitered about in my chalk-pit for a while; noted a new flower that
sprinkled the high grassy ledges that I had never seen there before;
and then sate down in a little dingle that commanded a wide view of the
fen. The landscape to-day was dark with a sort of indigo-blue shadows;
the clouds above big and threatening, as though they were nursing the
thunder--the distance veiled in a blue-grey haze. Field after field,
with here and there a clump of trees, ran out to the far horizon. A
partridge chirred softly in the pastures up above me, and a wild
screaming of sparrows came at intervals from a thorn-thicket, where
they seemed to be holding a fierce and disorderly meeting.

I should like to be able to recover the thread of my thoughts in that
quiet grassy place, because they ran on with an equable sparkle, quite
without cause or reason.