This
small maidie, holding up her short, shabby frock with her
wee hands, her bright brown hair falling over her face as she
bent her head down and laughed to see her bare little legs and
their flickering reflection beneath, made a pretty picture.
Like the wagtails, she looked in harmony with her
surroundings.
So many are the villages, towns, and places of interest seen,
so many the adventures met with in this walk, starting with
the baby streamlet beyond Simonsbath, and following it down to
Exeter and Exmouth, that it would take half a volume to
describe them, however briefly. Yet at the end I found that
Exford had left the most vivid and lasting impression, and was
remembered with most pleasure. It was more to me than
Winsford, that fragrant, cool, grey and green village, the
home of immemorial peace, second to no English village in
beauty; with its hoary church tower, its great trees, its old
stone, thatched cottages draped in ivy and vine, its soothing
sound of running waters. Exeter itself did not impress me so
strongly, in spite of its cathedral. The village of Exford
printed itself thus sharply on my mind because I had there
been filled with wonder and delight at the sight of a face
exceeding in loveliness all the faces seen in that West
Country--a rarest human gem, which had the power of imparting
to its setting something of its own wonderful lustre.
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