Chiefly Thatching 
one at the ridge, one along the eaves, and a third 
half-way between the others. 
Very countrified was the old thatcher’s turn- 
out. (The man helping him was said to be a 
chance assistant, although skilful to my eye.) 
Down in the loose hay lay the old man’s kit- 
basket, his coat, etc. A little funny old dog—a 
brindled cur about as big as a cat, with a lower 
tooth sticking out and an experienced and deter- 
mined expression—kept guard. At first he 
growled as we approached, but afterwards he 
was quite friendly. A donkey strayed about. 
Near the rick stood the donkey-cart—a tiny 
coster-barrow—holding a few more of the old 
thatcher’s things. Late in the evening the old 
man overtook us on the road, driving solitary 
and fairly fast. The dog was running under 
the brambles and ferns, along the dry bottom of 
one of the roadside ditches, five feet or so lower 
down than we were. 
Mr. Smith was full of praises of the noble hay- 
making weather it had been. The only real 
interruption had come about ten days previously, 
when a rain-Storm unexpectedly blew up in 
the night. The unfinished rick had not been 
covered with the rick-cloth, so settled had the 
evening appeared, and about a load of it had to 
be taken off to be dried again. Mr. Smith had 
been twitted over this, he told us. In Farn- 
105 
