106 THE OPEN AIR. 



and the heat had not evercome the vitality of his 

 spirits. There was life enough left for a little rough 

 play as the group gathered together and passed out 

 through the gateway. Life enough left in him to go 

 with the rest to the alehouse; and what else, oh 

 moralist, would you have done in his place ? This, 

 remember, is not a fancy sketch of rural poetry ; this 

 is the reaper's real existence. 



He had been in the harvest-field fourteen hours, 

 exposed to the intense heat, not even shielded by a 

 pith helmet ; he had worked the day through with 

 thew and sinew ; he had had for food a little dry 

 bread and a few onions, for drink a little weak tea 

 and a great deal of small beer. The moon was now 

 shining in the sky, still bright with sunset colours. 

 Fourteen hours of sun and labour and hard fare ! 

 Now tell him what to do. To go straight to his plank- 

 bed in the cowhouse ; to eat a little more dry bread, 

 borrow some cheese or greasy bacon, munch it alone, 

 and sit musing till sleep came he who had nothing 

 to muse about. I think it would need a very clever 

 man indeed to invent something for him to do, some 

 way for him to spend his evening. Bead ! To 

 recommend a man to read after fourteen hours burn- 

 ing sun is indeed a mockery; darn his stockings 

 would be better. There really is nothing whatsoever 

 that the cleverest and most benevolent person could 

 suggest. Before any benevolent or well-meaning sug- 

 gestions could be effective the preceding circum- 

 stances must be changed the hours an^I conditions 

 of labour, everything ; and can that be done ? The 

 world has been working these thousands of years, and 



