Evening star., 1918-12-15

The Harvest of Dreams.
TT began as quite narrow stream
where women used to come down
in the morning to wash their linen.
1t was overhung by trees. and in some
places branches touched the water,
mingling like arms with the rushes.
There was wooden bridge across
it, and on summer nights lovers came
there. They would watch the dark
water and say things that seemed to
them so new and wonderful. The wa
ter began to talk further along, where
the stream grew shallow. Standing
on the bridge at night you could hear
it chattering over pebbles. and. a
mile or SO away. its banks were all
golden with primroses in early
spring. Later in the year there would
be marshmallow and ragged robin.
Trees, beginning at its margins,
stretched back until they became
woods, dark and cool in summer. in
tersected by few vague little path
ways thAt WVVAN oRkAh0 0p SuOOCnAy
from the grass before you: narrow
pathways that struggled this way and
that, to become lost suddenly. They
appeared to lead nowhere; they were
as wayward as the wind.
Often you would surprise a rabbit,
which would scuttle OF at the sound
of footsteps, for the rabbits Of those
wnn1s vApa mt uand fo man mr. five
They did not pause and prick their
ears as rabbits living near q railway
will. but were of at once.
The woods now are all torn and
stunted and broken and the stream
that has run with blood Is choked
with twigs and branches and frag-
ments of the old bridge. The house
that used to be nearest the bridge is
gone. too. and all the cottages that
were dotted here and there in clear
ings and on the outskirts of
copses. they are laid low. Many of
them have been deliberately burnt
and destroyed.
There is small sign of the wayward
paths for shells have bitten deep into
the soil between tree trunks, and
along the outer edge of the wood
eHoIe IL u naII-nS:aleO scar WneFe
trench ran. You can still find tatters
OF sandbag there. old helmets. parts
OF rifles. gas masks, overcoats. mess
tins. haversacks. odd boots. strands
of puttee.
One or two of the homes have a pitt
about their ruin. There are neat
paths gashed up. and fragments of
charred wood and twisted shutters
lying where there must once have
been flowers. By the stump Of a tree
half-painted. One half is white ana
the other green. and the painting
stops suddenly, leaving an irregular
line: There are only rats whore there
used to be rabbits.
An impression is born shat 1t is
something almost human that has
been visited by such an agony. AS
you recall some of the folk who
lived here before the war you realize
how their lives were bound up with
1t all, interviewer with woods and
things were all an intimate part Of
their lives. Here they dreamed and
moved. as people at home in our
English villages dreamed and novel,
loving their homes" with a dumb love
that only found expression when war
came into their we'll ordered word.
They were men and women whose
lives were embarrassed by no great
problems. They were happy. They
were unsophisticated. Each week
was rounded off by service in the
church that stood on the edge Of
the woodland. It's spire used to
show UP white against the trees,
finger pointing skyvrArd. There is
no sign of II now.
1t cannot be long now before the
people Of that part will return to
remake their world. Other houses
Will rise. and q not far distant spring
VIII bring back to the trees their
old Elory. The church will be re-
paired. There will be rabbits again,
and perhaps other paths leading
nowhere. The stream will flow pure
and clear again. and the overhanging
trees will still shoot out arms among
the reeds.
The mark that the German armies
will leave for history is nothing
very splendid. Their invading hosts
brought no new civilization. no big
ioea, but only vulgar godlessness.
And the little things that made up
that world among the woods will
come again. The window frames will
have eyes; The ground will heal up.
There will be new perambulator in
the back yard: neat gardens with
new patha. Some one, perhaps, will
finish painting the garden seat.
Women will come down to the water
again to wash their linen; and lovers,
too. by night. will listen to the
0treAm and say those wonder rful old