THE GARDEN OF ENGLAND 



know, I'm a herbalist. You can scarcely call me a 

 civilised being, except on occasions when I do go among 

 my fellow men to winter." He pulled a cap and a pair 

 of gloves out of his pocket. " My titles to respectability," 

 he said. 



" And in the Spring ? " 



" I take to the road with the Coltsfoot and the Butter- 

 burrs. I come out with the first Violet, and the Pussy- 

 cat Willow. I wander, all through the year, up and 

 down the length and breadth of England, with my box 

 of herbs. I get my bread and cheese that way — while 

 you draw for pleasure." 



" Partly." 



" It must be for pleasure, or you wouldn't take so 

 much pains. I suppose you think I'm a very disgrace- 

 ful person, a bad citizen, a worse patriot. But I 

 know the news of the world better than those who 

 read newspapers. Although I trade on superstitions, 

 I do no harm." 



" Do you sell your herbs ? " 



" Colchicum for gout — Autumn Crocus, you know it," 

 he replied. " Willow-bark quinine ; Violet distilled, 

 for coughs. Not a bad trade — besides, it keeps me 

 free." 



I hazarded a question. " Tell me — you must observe 

 these things — do swifts drink as they fly ? It has often 

 puzzled me." 



" I don't know," said he. " Ask Mother Nature. 

 Some of these things are the province of professors. 

 I'm not a learned man ; just a herbalist." 



At that moment a thrush began to sing in a tree 

 overhead. My friend cocked his head, just like an 

 animal. 



" There's the wise thrush," he quoted softly, " he 

 sings his song twice over." 



15 



