A CO-OPERATIVE DEPdT. 137 



but eighteen inches beneath the surface, forms 

 a rocky basin for water in rainy seasons. 



The station is Glastonbury, an old-world 

 village warmed into fresh life by the erection 

 of new, bright -red brick houses, set amid 

 verdant pastures at the foot of the grassy Tor 

 crowned by the old Abbey tower. 



A mile and a half away lies Street, where 

 grey stone houses stand amid meadows richly 

 garlanded with apples. In the autumn the 

 air is pungent with cider. But cider is not 

 the only produce which helps to pay the rent. 

 Speckled Sussex hens, whiskered Faverolles, 

 sleek Buffs, and yellow-legged Leghorns strut 

 the green sward canopied with pink and white 

 blossoms. 



There is, unfortunately, very little ploughed 

 land in Somersetshire, and if you stand at the 

 top of the Polden Hills and search the magni- 

 ficent vale of Sedgemoor, the patches of red 

 and purple earth here and there stand out 

 with the distinction of isolation. A field or 

 two of arable land is seen from CoUett's 

 Corner, so named because it was here, in the 

 good old days when wages were 8s. a week, 

 that a man was gibbeted for stealing a sheep. 

 These fugitive purple patches are at Compton 



