And it was, happily, according to this latter reading of the position, instinctively, by the natural bent of her mind, that Damaris attempted converse with the world without.
The glory of the heather had passed, the bloom now showing only as silver-pink froth upon an ocean of warm brown.

But the colouring was restful, the air here on the dry gravel soil light and eager, and the sense of height and space exhilarating.

A fringe of harebells, of orange hawkweed and dwarf red sorrel bordered the road.

Every small oasis of turf, amongst the heath and by the wayside, carried its pretty crop of centaury and wild thyme, of bed-straw, milkwort, and birdsfoot trefoil.
Furzechats tipped about the gorse bushes, uttering a sharp, gay, warning note.

A big flight of rooks, blue-black against the ethereal blue of the distance, winged their way slowly homeward to the long avenue of dark trees leading to a farm in the valley.