Over-topped by tall elms and hidden by the orchards, the oaks were hardly seen in summer; now they are found to be numerous and give the prevailing hue to the place.
Dickon taps the dashboard as the mare at last tops the hill, and away she speeds along the level plateau for the Downs.

Two greyhounds are with us; two more have gone on under charge of a boy.

Skirting the hills a mile or two, we presently leave the road and drive over the turf: there is no track, but Dickon knows his way.

The rendezvous is a small fir plantation, the young trees in which are but shoulder-high.

Below is a plain entirely surrounded by the hills, and partly green with root crops: more than one flock of sheep is down there, and two teams ploughing the stubble.