BIRDS IN A VILLAGE 7 



middle part, where I lodged, was in a pretty 

 deep hollow. There was no sound of traffic there, 

 and few farmers' carts came that way, as it was 

 well away from the roads, and the deep, narrow, 

 winding lanes were exceedingly rough, like the 

 stony beds of dried-up streams. 



In the deepest part of the coombe, in the 

 middle of the village, there was a well where 

 the cottagers drew their water; and in the sum- 

 mer evenings the youths and maidens came there, 

 with or without jugs and buckets, to indulge in 

 conversation, which was mostly of the rustic, 

 bantering kind, mixed with a good deal of loud 

 laughter. Close by was the inn, where the men 

 sat on benches in the tap-room in grave discourse 

 over their pipes and beer. 



Wishing to make their acquaintance, I went in 

 and sat down among them, and found them a 

 little shy— not to say stand-offish, at first. Rus- 

 tics are often suspicious of the stranger within 

 their gates; but after paying for beer all round, 

 the frost melted and we were soon deep in talk 

 about the wild life of the place; always a safe 

 and pleasant subject in a village. One rough- 

 looking, brown-faced man, with iron-grey hair, 



