160 NOTES ON THE MANOR OF FORDINGTON. 



to the evolution of " characters." Besides the reeve, the hayward, 

 the foreman, and constable (Duchy officials), there were the cowherd, 

 already spoken of, and also the shepherd. They were so mixed up 

 in Duchy work that I think the outside public took them to be 

 " Duchy folk " like the others. I have said what the cowherd's 

 work was. The shepherd was employed by those neighbouring 

 farmers, or some of them, who paid for spring, summer, and autumn 

 keep for sheep on grass or stubbles. I think that a new series of 

 Wessex tales, all true, might be written by Mr. T. Hardy, by 

 diligent gathering and gleaning, even now, and all about " Duchy 

 folk." I feel certain that his neighbour, my friend, Cornelius 

 Thome last hayward but one could help him out with a good 

 tale or two, and as to Nat Seal last shepherd 1 and his father 

 before him, there is plenty yet floating about to fill a small book. 

 I am not going to forestall Mr. Hardy. Certainly not, for your sake 

 and his. Yet I may tell two little bits about Nat which concern 

 myself. Nat was a great man at fairs and cattle shows. These 

 last in my early boyhood were held in Salisbury Field, adjoining 

 my old home. One show came round at a time when Nat had a 

 jet black lamb which followed him everywhere in friendly company 

 with his two dogs. I was looking at this group and so was 

 everyone. Nat, on the other hand, was looking at me. On glancing 

 up I could see in his eye what he was thinking " Parson's son 

 take a bit of a rise out of you, sonny ; see if I don't." Some one 

 sai3 to him : " What kind of a sheep-dog d'ye call thik there It " 

 " Sheep-dog, good-now. Tell ye what, er've got un's black cwoat ; 

 blest if I dwunt larn 'un to read and make 'un a parson." I would 

 not tell this of Nat but that I can cap it with 'another little story, 

 showing that there was a soft place in that rough heart. Quite in 

 Nat's last years I had returned to Dorchester after long living 

 elsewhere. I went up to see Poundbury Fair. There was Nat 

 with his old dog and his crook, with its spiral woodbine-grooved 

 shaft, afterwards left as a legacy to Mr. Eurnett, his benefactor. 

 Of course I spoke to Nat. " I be middling, thank ye ; but, there, 

 I can't call your name to mind." " Moule," said I. " Moule ! 



