308 Lighting the Lamps

“< T like to hear of those old bells; don’t
you, father?”

As we reached the end of the new road
we saw the man lighting the lamp there;
and we watched him going quickly from one
post to another, leaving a little flower of fire
wherever he stopped. All was very quiet,
and, as he went down the street, we could
hear the sound of his footsteps growing
fainter and fainter in the distance. All our
streets, you must know, are lined with trees,
trees both in the gardens and on the side-
walks, and the lamps glittered among the
leaves and branches like so many stars.
When we passed under them we noticed
how the light tinged the foliage that was
nearest with a greenish ash-colour, almost
like the undersides of aspen-leaves.

“Isn't it just like a fairy village?” asked
W. V.«.

On our way down our own street I pointed
silently to the Forest. High over the billowy
outline of the darkened tree-tops the church
of the Oak-men was clear against the weather-

gleam. W. V. nodded: “I expect all the