90 CHRONICLES OF A CLAY FARM. 



the farmer's work was over like, for the year. There 

 was nothing to be done but sit at home and go to 

 sleep, till the Frost came, and the dung-cart could 

 be got a-field. It was bad work, Sir, for the labourer 

 bad work when he was turned off for the winter, 

 and had to look out for a bit o' hedging or ditching 

 somewhere else, miles off perhaps, to get a bit o' 

 bread by.' 



' Well, we've changed that, however ; I think I 

 may truly say that every year, to me, Winter has 

 been a busy time.' 



' And it will be too ! There'll never be standing 

 still for winter work again on this here farm, as long 

 as ever it lies out o' doors, let who will farm it ! for 

 all so many hedges are grubbed up. How the 

 Swedes have growwd, to be sure, on that piece as 

 we drained last year! I never saw Ship look better; 

 and I remember when there wasn't a ship on the 

 farm, or a Turnip on the ground to feed 'em with.' 



' D'ye think that piece will stand the treading of 

 the sheep ? ' 



* Bear it ! Lor' blesh you, it'll come up as mellow 

 as a garden, I'll war'n' it, in the spring : it treads a 

 little leathery in some places in the middle o' the 

 lands, but that'll all come right after another crop : 



