The Thatcher 99 



double mound with two stiles one for each ditch made 

 very high and intended for steps ; but the steps are worn 

 away, and it is something like climbing a perpendicular 

 ladder. Another has a toprail of a whole tree, so broad 

 and thick no one can possibly straddle it, so some friend 

 of humanity has broken the second rail, and you creep 

 under. Finally comes a steep bank, six or seven feet high, 

 with rude steps formed of the roots of trees worn bare by 

 iron-tipped boots, and of mere holes in which to put the 

 toe. At the top the stile leans forward over the precipice, 

 so that you have to suspend yourself in mid-air. Fortu T 

 nately, almost every other one has a gap worn at the side 

 just large enough to squeeze through after coaxing the 

 briars to yield a trifle. For it is intensely characteristic 

 of human nature to make gaps and short cuts. 



All the lads of the hamlet have a trysting-place at the 

 cross-roads, or rather cross-lanes, where there is often an 

 open waste space and a small clump of trees. If there is 

 any mischief in the wind, there the council of war is sure 

 to be held. There is a great rickyard not far distant, 

 where in one of the open sheds is the thatcher's workshop. 



He is a very pronounced character in his way, with 

 his leathern pads for the knees that he may be able to bear 

 lengthened contact against the wooden rungs of the ladder, 

 his little club to drive in the stakes, his shears to snip off 

 the edges of the straw round the eaves, his iron needle of 

 gigantic size with which to pass the tar cord through when 

 thatching a shed, and his small sharp billhook to split out 

 his thatching stakes. These are of willow, cut from the 

 pollard trees by the brook, and he sits on a stool in the 

 shed and splits them into three or four with the greatest 

 dexterity, giving his billhook a twist this way and then 

 that, and so guiding the split in the direction required. 



H2 



