The Pelopaeus 



side a gourd standing on the mantelpiece of 

 a farm-kitchen. In this narrow-mouthed 

 receptacle the farmer used to keep his shot. 

 As the orifice was always open and the 

 utensil not employed at that time of year, 

 a Pelopaeus had found that the peaceful re- 

 treat suited her and had gone to the length 

 of building on the layer of small-shot. The 

 gourd had to be broken to extract the bulky 

 edifice. 



The same notes tell me of nests built 

 against the pile of account-books in a dis- 

 tillery; in a fur cap relegated to the wall 

 until the return of winter; in the hollow of 

 a brick, back to back with the downy 

 structure of a Cotton-bee; on the sides of a 

 bag of oats; in a piece of lead tubing broken 

 off from an old water-pipe. 



I saw something more remarkable still 

 in the kitchen at Roberty, one of the biggest 

 farms near Avignon. It was a large room 

 with a very wide fireplace, in which the soup 

 for the farm-hands and the food for the 

 cattle were simmering in a row of pots and 

 pans. The labourers used to come in from 

 the fields so many at a time, take their seats 

 on benches round the table and devour the 

 portions served to them, with the silent 

 haste that denotes a keen appetite. To en- 

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