madam how and lady why(豪夫人和怀女士)-第24部分
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bit at the top of the next field； where the copse was grubbed。
But what good will he do by putting chalk on it？ Chalk is not rich
and fertile； like manure； it is altogether poor； barren stuff： you know that；
or ought to know it。 Recollect the chalk cuttings and banks on the
railway between Basingstoke and Winchesterhow utterly barren they are。
Though they have been open these thirty years； not a blade of grass； hardly
a bit of moss； has grown on them； or will grow； perhaps； for centuries。
Come； let us find out something about the chalk before we talk about
the caves。 The chalk is here； and the caves are not； and 〃Learn from the
thing that lies nearest you〃 is as good a rule as 〃Do the duty which lies
nearest you。〃 Let us come into the grubbed bit； and ask the farmerthere
he is in his gig。
Well； old friend； and how are you？ Here is a little boy who wants to
know why you are putting chalk on your field。
Does he then？ If he ever tries to farm round here； he will have to
learn for his first ruleNo chalk； no wheat。
But why？
Why； is more than I can tell； young squire。 But if you want to see
how it comes about； look here at this freshly…grubbed land how sour it is。
You can see that by the colour of itsome black； some red； some green；
some yellow； all full of sour iron； which will let nothing grow。 After the
chalk has been on it a year or two； those colours will have all gone out of
it； and it will turn to a nice wholesome brown； like the rest of the field；
and then you will know that the land is sweet； and fit for any crop。 Now
do you mind what I tell you； and then I'll tell you something more。 We
put on the chalk because； beside sweetening the land； it will hold water。
You see； the land about here； though it is often very wet from springs； is
sandy and hungry； and when we drain the bottom water out of it； the top
water （that is； the rain） is apt to run through it too fast： and then it dries
and burns up； and we get no plant of wheat； nor of turnips either。 So we
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put on chalk to hold water； and keep the ground moist。
But how can these lumps of chalk hold water？ They are not made
like cups。
No： but they are made like sponges； which serves our turn better still。
Just take up that lump； young squire； and you'll see water enough in it； or
rather looking out of it； and staring you in the face。
Why！ one side of the lump is all over thick ice。 So it is。 All that
water was inside the chalk last night； till it froze。 And then it came
squeezing out of the holes in the chalk in strings； as you may see it if you
break the ice across。 Now you may judge for yourself how much water a
load of chalk will hold； even on a dry summer's day。 And now； if you'll
excuse me； sir； I must be off to market。
Was it all true that the farmer said？
Quite true； I believe。 He is not a scientific manthat is； he does not
know the chemical causes of all these things； but his knowledge is sound
and useful； because it comes from long experience。 He and his
forefathers； perhaps for a thousand years and more； have been farming this
country； reading Madam How's books with very keen eyes； experimenting
and watching； very carefully and rationally； making mistakes often； and
failing and losing their crops and their money； but learning from their
mistakes； till their empiric knowledge； as it is called； helps them to grow
sometimes quite as good crops as if they had learned agricultural
chemistry。
What he meant by the chalk sweetening the land you would not
understand yet； and I can hardly tell you； for chemists are not yet agreed
how it happens。 But he was right； and right； too； what he told you about
the water inside the chalk； which is more important to us just now； for； if
we follow it out； we shall surely come to a cave at last。
So now for the water in the chalk。 You can see now why the chalk…
downs at Winchester are always green； even in the hottest summer：
because Madam How has put under them her great chalk sponge。 The
winter rains soak into it； and the summer heat draws that rain out of it
again as invisible steam； coming up from below； to keep the roots of the
turf cool and moist under the blazing sun。
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You love that short turf well。 You love to run and race over the
Downs with your butterfly…net and hunt 〃chalk…hill blues；〃 and 〃marbled
whites；〃 and 〃spotted burnets；〃 till you are hot and tired； and then to sit
down and look at the quiet little old city below； with the long cathedral
roof； and the tower of St。 Cross； and the gray old walls and buildings
shrouded by noble trees； all embosomed among the soft rounded lines of
the chalk…hills； and then you begin to feel very thirsty； and cry； 〃Oh； if
there were but springs and brooks in the Downs； as there are at home！〃
But all the hollows are as dry as the hill tops。 There is not a brook； or the
mark of a watercourse； in one of them。 You are like the Ancient Mariner
in the poem； with
〃Water； water； every where； Nor any drop to drink。〃
To get that you must go down and down； hundreds of feet； to the
green meadows through which silver Itchen glides toward the sea。 There
you stand upon the bridge； and watch the trout in water so crystal…clear
that you see every weed and pebble as if you looked through air。 If ever
there was pure water； you think； that is pure。 Is it so？ Drink some。
Wash your hands in it and tryYou feel that the water is rough； hard （as
they call it）； quite different from the water at home； which feels as soft as
velvet。 What makes it so hard？
Because it is full of invisible chalk。 In every gallon of that water
there are； perhaps； fifteen grains of solid chalk； which was once inside the
heart of the hills above。 Day and night； year after year； the chalk goes
down to the sea； and if there were such creatures as water…fairiesif it
were true； as the old Greeks and Romans thought； that rivers were living
things； with a Nymph who dwelt in each of them； and was its goddess or
its queenthen； if your ears were opened to hear her； the Nymph of Itchen
might say to you …
So child； you think that I do nothing but； as your sister says when she
sings Mr。 Tennyson's beautiful song；
〃I chatter over stony ways； In little sharps and trebles； I bubble into
eddying bays； I babble on the pebbles。〃
Yes。 I do that： and I love； as the Nymphs loved of old； men who
have eyes to see my beauty； and ears to discern my song； and to fit their
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own song to it； and tell how
〃'I wind about； and in and out； With here a blossom sailing； And here
and there a lusty trout； And here and there a grayling；
〃'And here and there a foamy flake Upon me； as I travel With many a
silvery waterbreak Above the golden gravel；
〃'And draw them all along； and flow To join the brimming river； For
men may come and men may go； But I go on for ever。'〃
Yes。 That is all true： but if that were all； I should not be let to flow
on for ever； in a world where Lady Why rules； and Madam How obeys。 I
only exist （like everything else； from the sun in heaven to the gnat which
dances in his beam） on condition of working； whether we wish it or not；
whether we know it or not。 I am not an idle stream； only fit to chatter to
those who bathe or fish in my waters； or even to give poets beautiful
fancies about me。 You little guess the work I do。 For I am one of the
daughters of Madam How； and； like her； work night and day； we know not
why； though Lady Why must know。 So day by day； and night by night；
while you are sleeping （for I never sleep）； I ca
