The Free State of Dorimare was a very small country, but, seeing thatit was bounded on the south by the sea and on the north and east bymountains, while its centre consisted of a rich plain, watered bytwo rivers, a considerable variety of scenery and vegetation was tobe found within its borders. Indeed, towards the west, in strikingcontrast with the pastoral sobriety of the central plain, the aspectof the country became, if not tropical, at any rate distinctly exotic.Nor was this to be wondered at, perhaps; for beyond the DebatableHills (the boundary of Dorimare in the west) lay Fairyland. Therehad, however, been no intercourse between the two countries for manycenturies.
The social and commercial centre of Dorimare was its capital,Lud-in-the-Mist, which was situated at the confluence of two riversabout ten miles from the sea and fifty from the Elfin Hills.
Lud-in-the-Mist had all the things that make an old town pleasant. Ithad an ancient Guild Hall, built of mellow golden bricks and coveredwith ivy and, when the sun shone on it, it looked like a rottenapricot; it had a harbour in which rode vessels with white and red andtawny sails; it had flat brick houses—not the mere carapace of humanbeings, but ancient living creatures, renewing and modifying themselveswith each generation under their changeless antique roofs. It had oldarches, framing delicate landscapes that one could walk into, and apicturesque old graveyard on the top of a hill, and little open squareswhere comic baroque statues of dead citizens held levees attended bybirds and lovers and insects and children. It had, indeed, more thanits share of pleasant things; for, as we have seen, it had two rivers.
Also, it was plentifully planted with trees.
One of the handsomest houses of Lud-in-the-Mist had belonged forgenerations to the family of Chanticleer. It was of red brick, andthe front, which looked on to a quiet lane leading into the HighStreet, was covered with stucco, on which flowers and fruit and shellswere delicately modelled, while over the door was emblazoned a fine,stylized cock—the badge of the family. Behind, it had a spaciousgarden, which stretched down to the river Dapple. Though it had no lackof flowers, they did not immediately meet the eye, but were imprisonedin a walled kitchen-garden, where they were planted in neat ribands,edging the plots of vegetables. Here, too, in spring was to be foundthe pleasantest of all garden conjunctions—thick yew hedges and fruittrees in blossom. Outside this kitchen-garden there was no need offlowers, for they had many substitutes. Let a thing be but a sort ofpunctual surprise, like the first cache of violets in March, let it bedelicate, painted and gratuitous, hinting that the Creator is solelypreoccupied with aesthetic considerations, and combines disparateobjects simply because they look so well together, and that thing willadmirably fill the role of a flower.
In early summer it was the doves, with the bloom of plums on theirbreasts, waddling on their coral legs over the wide expanse of lawn,to which their propinquity gave an almost startling greenness, thatwere the flowers in the Chanticleers' garden. And the trunks of birchesare as good, any day, as white blossom, even if there had not been theacacias in flower. And there was a white peacock which, in spite ofits restlessness and harsh shrieks, had something about it, too, of aflower. And the Dapple itself, stained like a palette, with great daubsof colour reflected from sky and earth, and carrying on its surface,in autumn, red and yellow leaves which may have fallen on it from thetrees of Fairy