第5部分(第6/7 頁)

le　friends　and　I　are　playing　in　the　haymow。　A　huge　mow　it　is；

packed　with　crisp；　sweet　hay；　from　the　top　of　which　the　smallest　child

can　reach　the　straining　rafters。　In　their　stalls　beneath　are　the　farm

animals。　Here　is　Jerry；　unresponsive；　unbeautiful　Jerry；　crunching　his

oats　like　a　true　pessimist；　resolved　to　find　his　feed　not　good……at　least

not　so　good　as　it　ought　to　be。　Again　I　touch　Brownie；　eager；　grateful

little　Brownie；　ready　to　leave　the　juiciest　fodder　for　a　pat；　straining

his　beautiful；　slender　neck　for　a　caress。　Near　by　stands　Lady　Belle；

with　sweet；　moist　mouth；　lazily　extracting　the　sealed…up　cordial　from

timothy　and　clover；　and　dreaming　of　deep　June　pastures　and　murmurous

streams。

The　sense　of　smell　has　told　me　of　a　ing　storm　hours　before　there　was

any　sign　of　it　visible。　I　notice　first　a　throb　of　expectancy；　a　slight

quiver；　a　concentration　in　my　nostrils。　As　the　storm　draws　nearer；　my

nostrils　dilate　the　better　to　receive　the　flood　of　earth…odours　which

seem　to　multiply　and　extend；　until　I　feel　the　splash　of　rain　against　my

cheek。　As　the　tempest　departs；　receding　farther　and　farther；　the　odours

fade；　bee　fainter　and　fainter；　and　die　away　beyond　the　bar　of　space。

I　know　by　smell　the　kind　of　house　we　enter。　I　have　recognized　an

old…fashioned　country　house　because　it　has　several　layers　of　odours；

left　by　a　succession　of　families；　of　plants；　perfumes；　and　draperies。

In　the　evening　quiet　there　are　fewer　vibrations　than　in　the　daytime；　and

then　I　rely　more　largely　upon　smell。　The　sulphuric　scent　of　a　match

tells　me　that　the　lamps　are　being　lighted。　Later　I　note　the　wavering

trail　of　odour　that