A SUMMER HARVEST 173 



As we take our accustomed walk in the deep deep 

 country, where the plough is still active, we may see even 

 among the well-farmed crops how the colour of the crop 

 is qualified by the ingenious devices of the weeds. Some, 

 such as the yellow charlock, top the growing grain to 

 seize the sunlight, and later willingly allow their black 

 ened pods to be swallowed by the grain and the seeds 

 scattered unseen. The blues and reds of corncockle and 

 poppy seek a different means of distribution. They 

 ripen with the white and yellow ears, are threshed with 

 them, and join their lovely colours in a riot that even the 

 penalised farmer must admire. Their seed-heads will be 

 threshed with the grain. They will feel themselves part 

 and parcel of the very harvest, like the climbing bind 

 weed, which impressed Keats and was immortalised in 

 the Autumn ode. When at last the crops are cut and 

 stooked, we shall find, biding their time in the stubbles, 

 the humbler weeds, in full but belated enjoyment of their 

 place in the sun. The scarlet pimpernel, flowering 

 among the dwarfed stubble, will play the part of the 

 poppy among the towering ears. 



The various illegitimate flowers of the corn field help 

 the daily change of hue, but it is the authentic crop we 

 chiefly notice. Nothing can compare with the wheat 

 emerging, like a daffodil flower, from green to deep gold. 

 Yet the oat, however pallid in hue, has peculiar virtues, 

 defying comparison. As the pine tree s whisper is more 

 sibilant than the elm s, the tinkle of the swinging berries 

 of the oat is as different from the rustle of the wheat as 

 church bells from the tramp of the congregation. They 

 are as sensitive to any tremor of the air as the seeds of 

 &quot; totter grass.&quot; And how graceful is each separate head, 

 especially in these later days. The branched white oat 

 is now generally at least in these harvest districts 



