have the land for next to nothing—next to nothing—at a rent really absurd. Surely the little that the rabbits eat——”
“It’s not a little—come and look for yourself,” replied the farmer. The squire made a gesture of impatience.
“What do you want?” he inquired.
“Will you wire me off?” was the repeated request.
“Wire is—what does Halkett say—so much per yard—and it would come to—what did Halkett tell me now?—but a large sum. No, I can’t do it.”
“Well, I can’t live like this.”
“Have another glass of whisky? Yes, yes, I want another glass myself, and I can’t drink alone—so if I am to enjoy my glass.—That’s it! Now surely you exaggerate a little. It’s not so bad.”
“I can’t go on like it, I’m sure.”
“Well, we’ll see about compensation—we’ll see. I’ll have a talk with Halkett, and I’ll come down and have a look at you. We all find a pinch somewhere—it’s nothing but humanity’s heritage.”
I was born in September, and love it best of all the months. There is no heat, no hurry, no thirst and weariness in corn harvest as there is in the hay. If the season is late, as is usual with us, then mid-September sees the corn still standing in stook. The mornings come slowly. The earth is like a woman married and fading; she does not leap up with a laugh for the first fresh kiss of dawn, but slowly, quietly, unexpectantly lies watching the waking of each new day. The blue mist, like memory in the
