"Six 'undred yackers. Oh yes, I'd plenty to do, and I could turn me
hands to most things, though I do say it. There weren't a man in the
parish as could beat I at mowing or putting a hackle on a rick, though I
do say it. And I could drive a straight furrow too. Heavy work it were.
The soil be stiff clay, as ye knows, zur. This Vlemish clay be very
loike it. Lord, what a mint o' diggin' we 'ave done in they trenches to
be sure. And bullets vlying like wopses zumtimes."

"Are your parents alive?" I asked.

"No, zur, they be both gone to Kingdom come. Poor old feyther," he said
after a pause. "I mind 'un now in his white smock all plaited in vront
and mother in her cotton bonnet--you never zee 'em in Wiltshire now.
They brought us all up on nine shillin' a week--ten on us we was."

"I suppose you sometimes wish you were back in Wiltshire now?" I said.

"Zumtimes, sir," he said wistfully. "It'll be about over with lambing
season, now," he added reflectively. "Many's the tiddling lamb I've
a-brought up wi' my own hands. Aye, and the may'll soon be out in
blossom. And the childern makin' daisy-chains."

"Yes," I said. "And think of the woods--the bluebells and anemones! You
remember Folly Wood?"

He smiled. "Ah, that I do: I mind digging out an old vixen up there,
when 'er 'ad gone to earth, and the 'ounds with their tails up
a-hollering like music. The Badminton was out that day. I were allus
very fond o' thuck wood. My brother be squire's keeper there. Many a