` I 've drafted two good new things today . ' And he doffed his cap to the bubbling bird . Then they walked through the grass to the knoll where Little Lindens stands . The old farmhouse , weather-tiled to the ground , took almost the colour of a blood-ruby in the afternoon light . The pigeons pecked at the mortar in the chimney-stacks ; the bees that had lived under the tiles since it was built filled the hot August air with their booming ; and the smell of the box-tree by the dairy-window mixed with the smell of earth after rain , bread after baking , and a tickle of wood-smoke . The farmer 's wife came to the door , baby on arm , shaded her brows against the sun , stooped to pluck a sprig of rosemary , and turned down the orchard . The old spaniel in his barrel barked once or twice to show he was in charge of the empty house . Puck clicked back the garden-gate . 'D ` you marvel that I love it ? ' said Hal , in a whisper . ` What can town folk know of the nature of housen -- or land ? ' They perched themselves arow on the old hacked oak bench in Lindens garden , looking across the valley of the brook at the fern-covered dimples and hollows of the Forge behind Hobden 's cottage . The old man was cutting a faggot in his garden by the hives . It was quite a second after his chopper fell that the chump of the blow reached their lazy ears . ` Eh -- yeh ! ' said Hal . ' I mind when where that old gaffer stands was Nether Forge -- Master John Collins 's foundry . Many a night has his big trip-hammer shook me in my bed here . Boom-bitty ! Boom-bitty !
If the wind was east , I could hear Master Tom XXXXX 's forge at Stockens answering his brother , Boom-oop !
Boom-bitty Collins Hal blood-ruby box-tree colour dimples gaffer hives wood-smoke