I liked the work at the Creamery extremely. The place was so cool and
sweet with the splashing of falling water and the smell of cream and
warm milk, and the fresh-looking, wholesome girls in their print frocks,
and all the shining, clean utensils.
The walk to and from the Creamery was most delightful, especially those
May days when there were such drifts of flowers and the wood was full of
bluebells, and little white and blue wild anemones and harebells and
sweet woodruff.
Nothing could well be more fragrant than the wood in those days of early
summer.
It was a place in which the trees were of the light and springing
variety with slender, pale trunks, but high overhead a mass of feathery
leaves made a roof against the sky.
I have often sheltered in the wood from a heavy shower and not received
a drop; yet it was suffused through the sunshiny hours with a soft
goldenness. Below the trees was only undergrowth and the grass sown
thickly with flowers. The path went so straight through it that as you
entered by the stile at one end you saw far before you the arch of light
over the stile that took you on to the road at the other end.
Occasionally my godmother was at the Creamery, working away with the
rest, but she had so much to do of many kinds that she could not be
looked for regularly.
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