Early Morning. 141 
The long summer days begin very early at Wick. 
About half-past two of a morning in June a faint 
twittering under the eaves announces that the 
swallows are awaking, although they will not com- 
mence their flight for awhile yet. At three o’clock 
the cuckoo’s call comes up from the distant meadows,’ 
together with the sound of the mower sharpening his 
scythe, for he likes to work while the dew is heavy 
on the grass, both for coolness and because it cuts 
better. He gets half a day’s work done before the 
sun grows hot, and about eight or nine o'clock lies 
down under the hedge for a refreshing nap. Between 
three and four the thrushes open song in the copse at 
the corner of the Home-field, and soon a loud chorus 
takes up their ditty as one after the other joins in. 
Then the nailed shoes of the milkers clatter on 
the pitching of the courtyard as they come for their 
buckets ; and immediately afterwards stentorian voices 
may be heard in the fields bellowing ‘Coom up! 
ya-hoop!’ to which the cows, recognising the well- 
known call, respond very much in the same tones. 
Slowly they obey and gather together under the 
elms in the corner of the meadow, which in summer 
is used as the milking-place. About five or half-past 
another clattering tells of the milkers’ return ; and 
then the dairy is in full operation. The household 
breakfasts at half-past six or thereabouts, and while 
breakfast is going on the heavy tramp of feet may be 
heard passing along the roadway through the rick- 
