A HUNT FOR THE NIGHTINGALE 109 



of mown grass, and hear the cry of a child that sat 

 in the hay back of the old church, and cried by the 

 hour while its mother was busy with her rake not 

 far off. The rain had ceased, the hay had dried 

 off a little, and scores of men, women, and children, 

 but mostly women, had flocked to the fields to rake 

 it up. The hay is got together inch by inch, and 

 every inch is fought for. They first rake it up 

 into narrow swaths, each person taking a strip about 

 a yard wide. If they hold the ground thus gained, 

 when the hay dries an hour or two longer, they 

 take another hitch, and thus on till they get it into 

 the cock or "carry" it from the windrow. It is 

 usually nearly worn out with handling before they 

 get it into the rick. 



From Selborne I went to Alton, along a road that 

 was one prolonged rifle-pit, but smooth and hard 

 as a rock; thence by train back to London. To 

 leave no ground for self-accusation in future, on 

 the score of not having made a thorough effort to 

 hear my songster, I the next day made a trip north 

 toward Cambridge, leaving the train at Hitchin, a 

 large picturesque old town, and thought myself in 

 just the right place at last. I found a road between 

 the station and the town proper called Nightingale 

 Lane, famous for its songsters. A man who kept 

 a thrifty-looking inn on the corner (where, by the 

 way, I was again refused both bed and board) said 

 they sang night and morning in the trees opposite. 

 He had heard them the night before, but had not 

 noticed them that morning. He often sat at night 



