136 FIELD AND HEDGEROW, 
The gallows at the cross-roads is gone, but the work- 
house stands, and custom, cruel custom, that tyrant of 
the mind, has inured us (to use an old word) to its exist- 
ence in our midst. Apart from any physical suffering, 
Ict us only consider the slow agony of the poor old 
reaper when he feels his lusty arm wither, and of the 
grey bowed wife as they feel themselves drifting like a 
ship ashore to that stony waiting-room. For it is a 
Waiting-room till the grave reccives them. Economic- 
ally, too, the workhouse is a heavy loss and drag. 
Could we, then, see the tithe barn filled again with 
golden wheat for this purpose of help to humanity, it 
might be a great and wonderful good. With this tenth 
to feed the starving and clothe the naked ; with the tenth 
to give the little children a midday meal at the school— 
that would be natural and true. In the course of time, 
as the land laws lessen their grip, and the people take 
possession of the earth on which they stand, it is more 
than probable that something of this kind will really 
come about. It would be only simple justice after so 
many centurics—it takes so many hundreds of years to 
get even that. 
‘Workhouse, indeed!’ I have heard the same 
ancient well-to-do greybeards ejaculate, ‘workhouse! 
they ought to be very thankful they have got such a 
place to go to!’ 
All the village has been to the wheat-field with 
reaping-hooks, and waggons and horses, thé whole 
strength of man has been employed upon it; little 
brown hands and large brown hands, blue eyes and dark 
cyes have been there searching about; all the intelligence 
of human beings has been brought to bear, and yet the 
stubble is not empty. Down there come again the ever- 
increasing clouds of sparrows; as a cloud rises here 
