146 CHRONICLES OF A CLAY FARM. 



measured way, taking it easy as though for a week's 

 continuance, and no hurry at all about the matter. 

 A single red streak, much too red, lay along one 

 part of the horizon, like a long-drawn smile, preg- 

 nant with malicious warning for the afternoon, and 

 killing the faint hope that clings to e twelve o' clock' 

 as an alterative. 



Now for my promised trespasser among the 

 Swedes ! No need for man-traps to-day in that 

 quarter, though I, preparing to met the foe, with 

 a pair of gaiters that seemed made for the Slough 

 of Despond. The turf-ground wheezed and yielded 

 under every footstep, plainly dating back the rain to 

 an early hour of the night, as I made my way to 

 the field; and as my eye scanned its whole space 

 over, the victory of the * early-bird ' seemed assured 

 when suddenly close to me, from the other side 

 of the hedge, just where the master-drain opened 

 out, came a ringing ' Good-morning, Sir ! ' into 

 my very ear, and Mr. Greening, rising from the 

 bent posture in which he had been scrutinizing the 

 drain, looked with mischievous unconcern the victory 

 he had promised, and accomplished. 



' Not deep enough ! ' quoth he ; laconically. 



Which r 



