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The Private Papers of Henry Ryecroft
·
George Gissing
45
I
left
the
inn
in
rather
a
turbid
humour.
Moving
homeward
by
a
new
way,
I
presently
found
myself
on
the
side
of
a
little
valley,
in
which
lay
a
farm
and
an
orchard.
The
apple
trees
were
in
full
bloom,
and,
as
I
stood
gazing,
the
sun,
which
had
all
that
day
been
niggard
of
its
beams,
burst
forth
gloriously.
For
what
I
then
saw,
I
have
no
words;
I
can
but
dream
of
the
still
loveliness
of
that
blossomed
valley.
Near
me,
a
bee
was
humming;
not
far
away,
a
cuckoo
called;
from
the
pasture
of
the
farm
below
came
a
bleating
of
lambs.
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