The Project Gutenberg EBook of Crocker's Hole, by R. D. Blackmore

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Title: Crocker's Hole
From "Slain By The Doones" By R. D. Blackmore

Author: R. D. Blackmore

Release Date: August 14, 2007 [EBook #22318]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CROCKER'S HOLE ***

Produced by David Widger

CROCKER'S HOLE

By R. D. Blackmore

From "SLAIN BY THE DOONES" by R. D. Blackmore
Copyright: Dodd, Mead And Company, 1895

CHAPTER I.

The Culm, which rises in Somersetshire, and hastening into a fairer
land (as the border waters wisely do) falls into the Exe near Killerton,
formerly was a lovely trout stream, such as perverts the Devonshire
angler from due respect toward Father Thames and the other canals round
London. In the Devonshire valleys it is sweet to see how soon a spring
becomes a rill, and a rill runs on into a rivulet, and a rivulet swells
into a brook; and before one has time to say, "What are you at?"--before
the first tree it ever spoke to is a dummy, or the first hill it ever
ran down has turned blue, here we have all the airs and graces, demands
and assertions of a full-grown river.

But what is the test of a river? Who shall say? "The power to drown a
man," replies the river darkly. But rudeness is not argument. Rather
shall we say that the power to work a good undershot wheel, without
being dammed up all night in a pond, and leaving a tidy back-stream to
spare at the bottom of the orchard, is a fair certificate of riverhood.
If so, many Devonshire streams attain that rank within five miles of
their spring; aye, and rapidly add to it. At every turn they gather
aid, from ash-clad dingle and aldered meadow, mossy rock and ferny wall,
hedge-trough roofed with bramble netting, where the baby water lurks,
and lanes that coming down to ford bring suicidal tribute. Arrogant,
all-engrossing river, now it has claimed a great valley of its own; and
whatever falls within the hill scoop, sooner or later belongs to itself.
Even the crystal "shutt" that crosses the farmyard by the woodrick, and
glides down an aqueduct of last year's bark for Mary to fill the kettle
from; and even the