384 A FARMER'S YEAR 



the ground between them were a flock of starlings, whose jewelled 

 plumage shone in the sunlight. Some of these were even perched 

 upon the sheep's backs, and, declining to be frightened away, clung 

 to the wool with their claws, their wings outspread to steady 

 themselves while the creatures moved. It was curious to see 

 these industrious birds hunting for insects, ticks I presume, which 

 were hidden in the fleeces of their hosts. One tick, I observed, was 

 Very obdurate and gave a starling much trouble, for he pulled at it 

 as a thrush pulls at a worm upon the garden grass.. Near to me also, 

 poised upon a whitethorn bough covered with brilliant haws, sat 

 a robin, watching everything that passed with his beady eye, his 

 little head cocked on one side, in search, no doubt, of some oppor- 

 tunity of profit to himself. It is strange, by the way, now that 

 the foliage grows thinner and winter is at hand, how one begins 

 to notice the red breasts of the robins. In summer they catch 

 the eye but seldom. 



Then suddenly this brilliance of colour and these many sound- 

 ing voices of beasts and birds passed away, for a cloud drifted 

 over the face of the sun, and, behold ! all the landscape grew dead 

 and ashen, and all the birds were still. The daws ceased their 

 chattering and the rooks croaked no more, the heavy shape of the 

 Royston crow vanished from sight among the trees of the Vineyard 

 slope, the Robin flew off with a disappointed chirp, and even the 

 bright haws seemed to lose their brilliant hues and to become 

 merged in the sombre tints of the autumn foliage. Only the 

 sheep fed on eagerly, as they feed day and night, heedless of the 

 season or the changes of the weather. Sheep are practical 

 creatures, with no time to waste in sentiment. 



On the road to-day I met an old fellow, a very handsome man 

 with clear-cut features, whose face I know well although I forget 

 his name. He stopped me, and in a melancholy quavering voice 

 said that he had a favour to ask. The favour was that he desired 

 to be informed whether I could allot him parish relief. He was 

 seventy-five, he told me, and could no longer work as his strength 

 had left him, so that unless he could get relief he must take 



