Farnborough Recalled 
girl to work.” To the pale blouses, dark skirts, 
and battered straw-hats this girl’s scarf added a 
touch of orange colour, which glowed and burned 
in the misty Odtober air. The women were 
raking up weeds which had been harrowed out. 
Eighteenpence a day was their wage, I was told. 
Mr. Smith explained that he liked the rake to 
follow, not to cross, the lines left by the harrow ; 
because, in crossing, the rake would bury the 
weeds rather than collect them. A young sandy- 
and-white cat, with tail sportively crooked, was 
gambolling about in the women’s company. 
Upon this present-day work, and on two or 
three corn-ricks under an elm, the shed gave 
view; but within it stood at rest the waggons, 
two veterans. At first my uncle said he remem- 
bered their being made, at about the time of 
his father’s death, fifty years previously. But 
gradually, memory growing more fluid in him, 
he concluded that they had only been done up 
then; receiving then, perhaps, his mother’s 
name, “‘ Susannah Smith,” which, albeit faded, 
was Still on their head-boards. Hers they had 
become; but they had been originally built for 
her husband—built for William Smith by my 
other grandfather, George Sturt. 
Each of the two waggons, it was recalled, had 
made many journeys to London with pots; 
yet plainly the older one had been fashioned for 
yh 
