THE FAERY YEAR 



flight of the dove, quite inferior in grace to the 

 spire and hover, but a sign, I think, of the same 

 emotion. 



A Cress Farmer 



The cress farm lies safely apart from hamlet or 

 outlying cottage among the meads and coppices of a 

 little hilly land of elms. Its cultivator, a year or 

 two ago, was a labourer at a fixed wage. He saved 

 a few pounds, and, the cress-beds being without a 

 tenant, he persuaded the farmer on whose land they 

 lie to give him a lease. In all, the beds cover an 

 acre, and the rent is 12 a year. His season has 

 just begun, and during the next few weeks the 

 cresses my friend calls them the " creases " ought 

 to bring in a sum to tide over unprofitable months 

 later in the year. The dark cress, which in May 

 will be succeeded by the bright green, fetches now 

 only about four shillings and sixpence a flat or half- 

 hundredweight. Yet it is crisp, and appetizing ; 

 and such cress, retailed by dealers in the towns, 

 will fetch \\d. a single small bunch. To make a 

 living out of his beds, he must manage them him- 

 self, aided only by his boy, and there is work 

 often far more than he can do on almost every 

 day of the year. The banks, honeycombed by the 

 water vole perhaps even that pigmy creature, the 

 water shrew, adds its mite of mischief and crumbled 

 by the frosts, have to be repaired, or the little runnels 

 at the sides of the beds will be choked up. There 

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