CHILDREN OF EARTH 203 



The blushing apricot and woolly peach 



Hang on thy walls, that every child may reach. 



And though thy walls be of the country stone, 



They're reared with no man's ruin, no man's groan ; 



There's none, that dwell about them, wish them down ; 



But all come in, the farmer and the clown ; 



And no one empty handed, to salute 



Thy lord and lady, though they have no suit. 



Some bring a capon, some a rural cake, 



Some nuts, some apples ; some that think they make 



The better cheeses, bring them ; or else send 



By their ripe daughters, whom they would commend 



This way to husbands ; and whose baskets bear 



An emblem of themselves, in plum or pear. . . ." 



Almost to such a time as that does the old man carry 

 back the thoughts. His old master was the fifth in the 

 direct line to work one farm in the vale; he left money in 

 his will to pay for new smocks, all of the best linen, to be 

 worn by the labourers who should carry him to the grave. 



The old man has three companions under that roof. 

 The hand that lit the lamp is his daughter's, the youngest 

 by the second wife, whom he married when he was fifty. 

 The other two are her children, and she is unmarried. 

 She earns no money except by keeping a few fowls and 

 bees. When the younger child was born — the old man 

 having to go six miles out at midnight for the parish 

 doctor — the married women commented : " There's for- 

 giveness for the first, but not for the second; no " : for 

 the first showed indiscretion, carelessness, youth; the 

 second, helplessness. The old man can hardly leave the 

 children, and though he is deaf he will, when he is told 

 that the baby is crying, go to the room and listen carefully 

 for the pleasure of the infant voice. That voice means 

 colder winter nights for him and less cheer of meat and 



