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sun was shining brightly and the air was cool and crisp. 

 The walking was good, and all nature seemed in her most 

 charming autumnal mood. 



On reaching the place, I found Mr. Clockwell was not at 

 home. Taking out my knife (I carried one always), I cut 

 a stout stick from a bush and set out on my three-mile tramp 

 homewards. Just before I entered the village I threw my 

 cane away. My pride was not quite dead yet. I reached home 

 just as the workmen were going away, tired and hungry 

 from my five-mile walk. But what of that ? A good sup- 

 per and a night's rest would correct everything. 



The next day was devoted to housework. Perhaps you 

 wonder how I attended to this at all. In the first place, I 

 had all my evenings to myself; secondly, my children helped 

 me as far as they were able ; and, lastly, we are not any of us 

 "idlers in the land." 



As I had some mending to do, I sat down by the window 

 to watch the men at work on my new plant-house. The 

 new shed was roofed over, doors and windows in, and all 

 finished outside. A low stone wall had been built up be- 

 tween the posts extending around the cellar or pit. On top 

 . and firmly fastened to the posts was a narrow strip of two- 

 inch plank having the top bevelled off at an angle of forty-five 

 degrees. On top of the row of posts placed through the 

 centre was a broad piece of plank having upright edges, so 

 that it had the appearance of a long, narrow trough. This 

 was also bevelled off like the top of the outside wall. Six 



