Page:Letters from England.djvu/85

 these cows and sheep; it’s a wonder they don’t get stolen. Good gracious, my boy, there isn’t a living soul to be seen here; only over there some one’s riding along on a bicycle, and here, look out, another one of those stinking motor-cars; my boy, doesn’t anyone do any work here?

It would be difficult to explain to my uncle the economic system of England; his hands would itch too much for the heavy plough-handle. The English countryside is not for work; it is for show. It is as green as a park and as immaculate as paradise. I sauntered along a grassy pathway in Surrey during Rh