The Life of the Fly 



savour of bacon and turnips. Armed with a 

 long metal ladle, grandmother would take 

 from it, for each of us in turn, first the broth, 

 wherein to soak the bread, and next the ration 

 of turnips and bacon, partly fat and partly 

 lean, filling the bowl to the top. At the other 

 end of the table was the pitcher, from which 

 the thirsty were free to drink at will. What 

 appetites we had and what festive meals those 

 were, especially when a cream-cheese, home- 

 made, was there to complete the banquet! 



Near us blazed the huge fire-place, in which 

 whole tree-trunks were consumed in the ex- 

 treme cold weather. From a corner of that 

 monumental, soot-glazed chimney, projected, 

 at a convenient height, a bracket with a slate 

 shelf, which served to light the kitchen when 

 we sat up late. On this we burnt chips of 

 pine-wood, selected among the most trans- 

 lucent, those containing the most resin. They 

 shed over the room a lurid red light, which 

 saved the walnut-oil in the lamp. 



When the bowls were emptied and the last 

 crumb of cheese scraped up, grandam went 

 back to her distaff, on a stool by the chimney- 

 corner. We children, boys and girls, squat- 

 ting on our heels and putting out our hands to 

 the cheerful fire of furze, formed a circle 

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