It was along the lane which began in a farmyard close by the Manor and climbed with many turnings to the top of Stanbury Hill.

This was ever the first route re-examined by his brother Godfrey and himself on their return from school at holiday-time.

It was a rare region for bird-nesting, so seldom was it trodden save by a few farm-labourers at early morning or when the day's work was over.

Hubert passed with a glance of recognition the bramble in which he had found his first spink's nest, the shadowed mossy bank whence had fluttered the hapless wren just when the approach of two prowling youngsters should have bidden her keep close.

Boys on the egg-trail are not wont to pay much attention to the features of the country; but Hubert remembered that at a certain meadow-gate he had always rested for a moment to view the valley, some mute presage of things unimagined stirring at his heart.
Was it even then nineteenth century?
Not for him, seeing that the life of each of us reproduces the successive ages of the world.