Emergencies 171 



ably quarrel with me for wishing her rapid success 

 towards the goal of her dominant ambition. Yet 

 one cannot but be sorry for the children, born in 

 " sidelangs " and bred to the choice of death or 

 export. 



I remember an unusually clever man we had in 

 our part of the country, now, I hope, in a sweeter 

 place. Ned knew everybody's business better 

 than anybody knew his own, and though it was 

 by no means conscious altruism, he always certainly 

 gave twice as much attention to other people's 

 affairs, always with a sneer at the other people. 

 During the summer, when the weather was warm 

 enough for comfortable conversation, he occupied 

 himself so much with the interests of his neigh- 

 bours that he could find no time to make hay, and 

 we could generally find him mowing about 

 November, when one big shower might create an 

 emergency to last all winter, if not permanently. 

 Sometimes the " hay " remained in the swaths, 

 sometimes half " saved," sometimes collected in 

 lumps on a meadow near the house, where he could 

 " let it out " again in spring, before the new grass 

 had grown inconveniently long. Cycling past on 

 a sunny day towards the end of April, when we had 

 nearly eaten up last year's hay crop, I found my 

 old friend haymaking, and said to him : " Why, 

 Ned, you are earlier than I am with the hay this 

 year. I will have none fit to cut for six weeks 

 yet." I forgot his reply, but after that, he and I 

 could never quite agree. Perhaps I had taken 

 advantage of him in an emergency, but then, Ned 



