Explore "Ralph Trulock's Christmas Roses" by Annette Lyster on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
IT was a lovely day, and the road through the remains of the great forest had never looked more beautiful. Some hawthorn blossoms still lingered in the hedges, and under the trees the ground was blue with wild hyacinths. Here and there a delicate tuft of stellaria, or a carpet-like patch of the pale blue speedwell, varied the colouring, and wild roses of wonderful size and beauty, some of quite a deep crimson, waved in the soft warm breeze. Over all this, the green light coming through the trees shed its own peculiar beauty.
Ralph was not insensible to the loveliness of the scene, though he could not have talked about it. He walked on and on, looking up every glade that opened upon him; but not seeing the children, was just about to turn back when a merry shout of laughter met his ear. The ground rose suddenly on the left side of the road, and it was from that side the sound came. Ralph easily crossed the low wall, climbed the steep bank, and looked round.