A BARN. 85 



and red, his shiny fat cheeks almost as prominent as 

 his stumpy nose, likewise red and shiny. A fringe 

 of reddish whiskers surrounds his chin like a cropped 

 hedge. The eyes are small and set deeply, a habit 

 of half-closing the lids when walking in the teeth of 

 the wind and rain has caused them to appear still 

 smaller. The wrinkles at the corners and the bushy 

 eyebrows are more visible and pronounced than the 

 eyes themselves, which are mere bright grey points 

 twinkling with complacent good humour. 



These red cheeks want but the least motion to 

 break into a smile; the action of opening the lips 

 to speak is sufficient to give that expression. The 

 fur cap he wears allows the round shape of his head 

 to be seen, and the thick neck which is the colour of 

 a brick. He trudges deliberately round the straw 

 rick; there is something in the style of the man 

 which exactly corresponds to the barn, and the straw, 

 and the stone staddles, and the waggons. Could we 

 look back three hundred years, just such a man 

 would be seen in the midst of the same surround- 

 ings, deliberately trudging round the straw ricks of 

 Elizabethan days, calm and complacent though the 

 Armada be at hand. There are the ricks just the 

 same, there is the barn, and the horses are in good 

 case; the wheat is coming on well. Armies may 

 march, but these are the same. 



When his waggon creaks along the road towards 

 the town his eldest lad walks proudly by the leader's 

 head, and two younger boys ride in the vehicle. They 

 pass under the great elms; now the sunshine and 

 now the shadow falls upon them; the horses move 



