46 A FARMER'S YEAR 



rime, more perfect than any I have seen of late, because of the 

 extraordinary calmness of the air. By the time that we came out 

 of church this rime had melted in the bright sunshine, but the 

 day remained frosty and windless. The best part of it, however, 

 was the sunset as seen from the Bungay Road a huge ball of fire 

 that vanished gradually behind a deep background of spreading 

 wreaths of vapour, smoky red in hue, roll upon roll of them 

 covering the western sky. Against this sombre and glorious pall 

 the trees in the foreground stood out nakedly, every bough, and 

 indeed each separate twig, outlined and accentuated with fire, as 

 in the morning they had been outlined and accentuated by frost. 

 Then, to complete the picture, in the clear blue-black of the heavens 

 above hung the crescent moon. Altogether it was an evening to 

 be remembered. 



That night promised sharper cold, but the promise was not to 

 be fulfilled, for on Sunday the 26th the frost began to break and 

 the moon came ringed into a clear sky. Moreover, I heard curlew 

 calling over Bungay Common it is impossible for anyone who 

 knows it to mistake that wild and melancholy note, although I 

 cannot recall hearing it here before. This I took as a sign of bad 

 weather ; nor was I wrong, for on the morrow the frost had de- 

 parted and half a gale blew from the sou'-west, which on the 3oth 

 developed into a full gale. But like some worn-out old man, the 

 year died quietly. I was shooting pheasants in Tindale Wood on 

 the 3ist, and there could not have been a better day for the pur- 

 pose of that pastime. 



As the old year died so the new year was born, in peace and 

 beauty, a mild southerly wind barely stirring the black trees. There 

 is only one plough going on the farm to-day, turning up the five acres 

 of glebe land, No. 40 on the plan. This piece, together with its 

 companions, Nos. 38 and 39, is very stony and light, the sort of 

 land that would be the better for rain three days a week. Last 

 year it and No. 39 were clover layers, but owing to the persistent 

 drought the crop they yielded was poor indeed. I remember 

 finding patches of them at times absolutely brown and shrivelled, 



