Out came Hal 's book at once . ` Hoity-toity ! ' he cried . ` Here 's Pride in purple feathers ! Here 's wrathy contempt and the Pomps of the Flesh ! How d'you call them ? ' ` Turkeys ! Turkeys ! ' the children shouted , as the old gobbler raved and flamed against Hal 's plum-coloured hose . '' Save Your Magnificence ! ' he said . ` 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 XXXXX , in a whisper .
Flesh Hal Lindens Puck afternoon blood-ruby box-tree gobbler spaniel wrathy