thews. He has been in the raw places of the earth, where the desert
beasts have whimpered their unthinkable psalmody, and their eyes
have shone back the reflex of the midnight stars--and he can immerse
himself in the tending of an incubator. It is horrible and wrong,
and yet when I have met him in the lanes his face has worn a look of
tedious cheerfulness that might pass for happiness. Has Judkin of
the Parcels found something in the lees of life that I have missed
in going to and fro over many waters? Is there more wisdom in his
perverseness than in the madness of the wise? The dear gods know.

I don't think I saw Judkin more than three times all told, and
always the lane was our point of contact; but as the roan mare was
taking me to the station one heavy, cloud-smeared day, I passed a
dull-looking villa that the groom, or instinct, told me was Judkin's
home. From beyond a hedge of ragged elder-bushes could be heard the
thud, thud of a spade, with an occasional clink and pause, as if
some one had picked out a stone and thrown it to a distance, and I
knew that HE was doing nameless things to the roots of a pear tree.
Near by him, I felt sure, would be lying a large and late vegetable
marrow, and its largeness and lateness would be a theme of
conversation at luncheon. It would be suggested that it should
grace the harvest thanksgiving service; the harvest having been so
generally unsatisfactory, it would be unfair to let the farmers
supply all the material for rejoicing.

And while I was speeding townwards along the rails Judkin would be
plodding his way to the vicarage bearing a vegetable marrow and a
basketful of dahlias. The basket to be returned.