146 WILD LIFE IN A SOUTHERN COUNTY. 



no an old pollard tree may be cut down, how much an 

 old woman shall pay in quit-rent for her hovel, or 

 whether there was or was not a gateway in a certain 

 hedge seventy years ago. However, it brings neigh- 

 bours together, and causes the inevitable sherry to 

 circulate briskly. 



The long summer days begin very early at Wick. 

 About half -past two of a morning in June a faint 

 twittering under the eaves announces that the swal- 

 lows are awaking, although they will not commence 

 their flight for a while yet. At three o'clock the cuckoo's 

 call comes up from the distant meadows, together with 

 the sound of the mower sharpening his scythe ; for he 

 likes to work while the dew is heavy on the grass, both 

 for coolness and because it cuts better. He gets half 

 a day's work done before the sun grows hot, and about 

 eight or nine o'clock lies down under the hedge for a 

 refreshing nap. Between three and four the thrushes 

 open song in the copse at the corner of the Home-field, 

 and soon a loud chorus takes up their ditty as one after 

 the other joins in. 



Then the nailed shoes of the milkers clatter on the 

 pitching of the courtyard as they come for their buckets; 

 and immediately afterwards stentorian voices may be 

 heard in the fields bellowing " Coom up ! ya-hoop ! " 

 to which the cows, recognizing the well-known call, 

 respond very much in the same tones. Slowly they 

 obey and gather together under the elms in the corner 

 of the meadow, which in summer is used as the milk- 

 ing-place. About five or half -past another clattering 



