n6 THE LAND'S END 



By day I was out of doors, wet or fine, but in the 

 evening and it was when evenings were longest 

 I sat with the others and gazed into the cavernous 

 fireplace and basked and shivered in the alternating 

 bursts of heat and cold. As a rule, the round baking- 

 pot was on its polished stone on the hearth, with 

 smouldering turves built up round it and heaped on 

 the flat lid. In some parts of Cornwall they have 

 good peat, called " pudding turves," which makes 

 a hot and comparatively lasting fire. In the Land's 

 End district they have only the turf taken from the 

 surface, which makes the poorest of all fires, but it 

 has to serve. By and by the big home-made loaf 

 would be done, and when taken out would fill the 

 room with its wholesome smell one is almost 

 tempted to call it fragrance. But to make a blaze 

 and get any warmth furze was burnt. On the floor 

 at one side of the hearth there was always a huge pile 

 of it ; the trouble was that it burnt up too quickly 

 and took one person's whole time to keep the fire 

 going. This onerous task was usually performed by 

 the farmer's wife, who, after an exceedingly busy day 

 beginning at five o'clock in the morning, appeared to 

 regard it as a kind of rest or recreation. Standing 

 between the hearth and pile she would pick up the 

 top branch, and if too big with all its load of dry 

 spines she would divide it, using her naked hands, 

 and fling a portion on to the hearth. In a few 

 moments the dry stuff would ignite and burn with 

 a tremendous hissing and crackling, the flames spring- 

 ing up to a height of seven or eight feet in the vast 



