92 CHRONICLES OF A CLAY FARM. 



of chronicle call it the ' Chronicle of a Clay 

 Farm"? " 



' Oh, that's capital ! Lord, how I should like to 

 see it : that 'ould be summat like, that 'ould ! none 

 o' them there long words about Chemists and Drug- 

 gists and Doctors' stuff, as if farmers was a parcel o' 

 hold women, like my poor old Missus - - oh ! 

 thank you kindly Sir for what you sent her, it did 

 her a sight o' good, she was able to eat her vittles 

 better arterwards than she's done for many a day ' 



' But you won't believe I can doctor the field and 

 give that an appetite, eh Dobson ? ' 



* Well, I don't know I ben't no scollard, Sir 

 one thing however, you've tapped the dropsy on it, 

 for one thing, that's sartin ! ' 



' And you'll believe the other when you've seen it. 

 Well, good night, Dobson ! ' 



And with a hearty ' good night' in return, trudges 

 poor old Dobson home from his hard and wet day's 

 work, with none the heavier heart or less elastic 

 tread for a few cheery words to enliven the dull 

 blank of the body's labour, and illuminate for a mo- 

 ment that hateful chasm that lies too broad and for- 

 bidding between employer and employed, in civilized 

 England. 



