THE GROOMING OF THE FARM 89 



paled to silver, and the smooth, rain-worn 

 grooves and hollows of the boards glistened 

 like a rifle barrel. 



The sheds were, I am afraid, not very useful. 

 One, they said, had been built to hold ploughs, 

 another for turkeys, another for ducks. One, 

 the only one that was hen-tight, we used for 

 the incarceration of confirmed &quot;setters,&quot; and 

 it thus gained the title of &quot;Durance Vile.&quot; 

 The rest were nameless, the abode of cobwebs 

 and rats and old grain-bags and stolen nests 

 and surprise broods of chickens, who dropped 

 through cracks between loose boards and had 

 to be extracted by Jonathan with much diffi 

 culty. Perhaps it was this that set him against 

 them. At all events, he decided that they 

 must go. I protested faintly, trying to think 

 of some really sensible argument. 



&quot;But Durance Vile,&quot; I said. &quot;We need 

 that. Where shall we put the setters?&quot; 



&quot;No, we don t. That isn t the way to 

 treat setters, anyway. They should be cooped 

 and fed on meat.&quot; 



&quot;I suppose you read that in one of those 

 agricultural experiment station pamphlets,&quot; 

 I said. 



