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Full text of "TheCompleteMemoirsOfGeorgeSherston"

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almost my favourite sort of weather, I thought. The
garden was getting wild and overgrown, for there was
only one old man working in it now. The day before
I had begun an attempt to recivilize the tangled
tennis-lawn, but it had been too much like canoeing
on the Cherwell, and to-day I decided to cut dead
wood out of the cedar. While I climbed about in the
tree with a bill-hook in my hand I could hear old
Huckett trundling the water-tank along the kitchen
garden. Then Aunt Evelyn came along with her
flower-basket full of dahlias; while she was gazing up
at me another brittle bough cracked and fell, scaring
one of the cats who followed her about. She begged
me to be careful, adding that it would be no joke to
tumble out of such a big tree.

Later in the morning I visited the stables. Stagna-
tion had settled there; nettles were thick under the
apple-trees and the old mowing-machine pony grazed
in shaggy solitude. In Dixon's little harness room,
saddles were getting mouldy and there were rust-
spots on the bits and stirrup-irons which he had kept
so bright. A tin of Harvey's Hoof Ointment had obviously
been there since 1914. It would take Dixon a long
time to get the place straightened up, I thought,
forgetting for a moment that he'd been dead six
months. ... It wasn't much fun, mooning about the
stables. But a robin trilled his little autumn song from
an apple-tree; beyond the fruit-laden branches I
could see the sunlit untroubled Weald, and I looked
lovingly at the cowls of hop-kilns which twinkled
across those miles that were the country of my child-
hood. I could smell autumn in the air, too, and I
thought I must try to get a few days cubbing before I
go back to the Depot. Down in Sussex there were a
few people who would willingly lend me a horse, and