A Farmer’s Life 
again and again it must have called up Strange, 
solemn pictures in his memory. He pointed it 
out to me, asking me if I knew it. But I didn’t; 
so he told me what has already been re-told 
elsewhere. 
Certain details about the old farm led to a 
talk about thatching; and that, to mention of 
a family of thatchers somewhat famous in that 
district for their craft. ‘Iwo unmarried brothers 
were the only survivors then; but Mr. Smith 
remembered also their father and their grand- 
father. Generation after generation the family 
had followed their trade with notable skill; 
yet, as these two brothers were older men than 
Mr. Smith—who by now was seventy-three—it 
must have been to their father, not their grand- 
father, that he chiefly referred. 
He had died at work, this man, when past 
ninety years old. With his two sons he had gone 
out as usual in the cart ; and while they were busy 
on the rick he had silently dropped down in 
the straw and died. Hus sons, coming down, 
picked him up dead and put him in the cart and 
drove home. It sounds inadequate. Yet what 
else could they have done? 
In his younger days he had been a matchless 
craftsman, well aware of his worth, my uncle 
said. Knowing that no other could thatch half 
as well, he chose not to be hustled. Did anyone 
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