We are, body and
mind, very responsive to atmospheric changes; for every storm
in Nature there is a storm in us--a change physical and
mental. We make our own conditions, it is true, and these
react and have a deadening effect on us in the long run, but
we are never wholly deadened by them--if we be not indeed
dead, if the life we live can be called life. We are told
that there are rainless zones on the earth and regions of
everlasting summer: it is hard to believe that the dwellers in
such places can ever think a new thought or do a new thing.
The morning rain did not last very long, and before it had
quite ceased I took up my knapsack and set off towards the
sea, determined on this occasion to make my escape.
Three or four miles from Ottery St. Mary I overtook a cowman
driving nine milch cows along a deep lane and inquired my way
of him. He gave me many and minute directions, after which we
got into conversation, and I walked some distance with him.
The cows he was driving were all pure Devons, perfect beauties
in their bright red coats in that greenest place where every
rain-wet leaf sparkled in the new sunlight. Naturally we
talked about the cows, and I soon found that they were his own
and the pride and joy of his life. We walked leisurely, and
as the animals went on, first one, then another would stay for
a mouthful of grass, or to pull down half a yard of green
drapery from the hedge.
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