Retirement 
and not at all realise how orderly, how peacefully, 
it did in fact go on. 
Variety truly there was. The threshing- 
machine last week had left a large quantity of 
meavein ss)’ and “hulls.” The latter word I 
did not quite catch and I forgot to inquire into it. 
But when I asked about “ cavein’s,’”’ what were 
they ? my uncle answered, in his whimsical way, 
“racketin’s.” I begged him to tell me in English, 
not caring to hint that possibly his English was 
too good for me. So then he explained. 
“Cavein’s’”’ * are the broken straw and bits 
of clover which come away from the corn in 
threshing. In the old days of the flail a small 
quantity was left on the barn floor every evening, 
which would be taken up at once and given to the 
cattle, who like it much. But the threshing- 
machine had left more of this by-product on hand 
than could be used before it spoiled. So Mr. 
Smith and his sons, then and there, fell to dis- 
cussing its worth and speculating who would 
buy it. This talk was hardly over when old Boss 
Fuller, the rick-thatcher I had watched during 
the summer, came along and bought the 
“cavein’s ”’ for seven shillings. 
Meanwhile, in the fields the mangold were 
being got up; the cows had to be milked and the 
milk taken away; nor yet was this all. After 
dark, when I was leaving, Mr. Smith’s sons 
* Note B, Appendix. 
11g 
