A JOURNAL KEPT IN THE COUNTRY. 237 



We are put down at the Tanyard, and tug the cricket- 

 bag up the hill together, pleasantly tired, and with a 

 wholesome regard for supper. We have had a happy 

 day in the sunshine, and I hope done something to 

 remember, and to set our backs up for work again 

 next half. 



Bob departed, a double silence falls on the follow- 

 ing Sunday. The day is still a day of rest in 

 Arnington ; I think the land may be said to enjoy 

 her Sabbaths. Excepting certain of the " big-house " 

 people, Londoners in villegiatura, who by carrying 

 over inane junketings to Sunday afternoons throw 

 away a cheap zest to their organised amusements, in 

 this corner of the world we really use once a week 

 that admirable refection of quietude. The morning 

 was grey and still, a weather-Sabbath in itself. As 

 my custom is at times, I had sent the household to 

 church, and stayed at home myself to watch the small 

 needs of the curtilage. All being in train in the stable 

 and the yard, I idled in the garden, merely enjoying 

 the borders, at truce with chickweed and shell-sneg ; 

 careless, for the time, of rotation of crops and succes- 

 sions. The year's labours are nearly done. As I 

 pass, the onion crop is sunning under old cucumber- 

 lights, ready to be housed ; the potatoes are raised, 



