A Farmer’s Life 
cow’s flank—sometimes clutching suddenly at her 
leg, to prevent her kicking over the pail between 
his knees. He couldn’t talk much, nor listen 
much. But it was pleasant enough to look on. 
For in summer, with the farm-yard just outside, 
sunshine reflected, all glowing, into the cool cow- 
Stalls. Flies came buzzing in, with sleepy- 
sounding hum or sudden invasion; and now and 
again a swallow in the shadowy roof swept past. 
The cows munched lazily; their tails flicked; 
the sound of the milking heightened the impres- 
sion of peace and of summer. Yet I liked the 
same scene better still in winter. It was seldom 
too cold there, where the cows were. And as 
the lanterns were lit within, and the winter twilight 
without turned to starry winter night, I felt that 
I had unawares travelled to far northern lands, or 
that time had slipped back and that a very ancient 
England was still hard at work, amongst the 
flicking tails in the dim cow-stall. For really 
the old essential things had not changed—could 
not change; and theirs was the quality John 
Smith seemed to live in and for. 
I used to get it later, from his talk, when he 
hobbled indoors with me to his fireside and tea. 
Whether he chatted about his childhood or about 
yesterday’s gossip, always it was as if the very 
countryside was talking. 
38 
