pen the aspect--gather
the breadth and largeness of view. Never can that view be wide
enough and large enough; there will always be room to aim higher. As
the air of the hills enriches the blood, so let the presence of
these beautiful things enrich the inner sense.

A KING OF ACRES

I.--JAMES THARDOVER

A weather-beaten man stood by a gateway watching some teams at
plough. The bleak March wind rushed across the field, reddening his
face; rougher than a flesh-brush, it rubbed the skin, and gave it a
glow as if each puff were a blow with the 'gloves.' His short brown
beard was full of dust blown into it. Between the line of the hat
and the exposed part of the forehead the skin had peeled slightly,
literally worn off by the unsparing rudeness of wintry mornings.
Like the early field veronica, which flowered at his feet in the
short grass under the hedge, his eyes were blue and grey. The petals
are partly of either hue, and so his eyes varied according to the
light--now somewhat more grey, and now more blue. Tall and upright,
he stood straight as a bolt, though both arms were on the gate, and
his ashen walking-stick swung over it. He wore a grey overcoat, a
grey felt hat, grey leggings, and his boots were grey with the dust
which had settled on them.

He was thinking: 'Farmer Bartholomew is doing the place better this
year; he scarcely hoed a weed last season; the stubble was a tangle
of weeds; one could hardly walk across it. That second team stops
too long at the end of the furrow--idle fellow that. Third team goes
too fast; horses will be soon tired. Fourth team--he's getting
beyond his work--too old; the stilts nearly threw him over there.
This ground has paid for the draining--one, at all events. Never saw
land look better. Looks brownish and moist--moist brownish red.
Query, what colour is that? Ask Mary--the artist. Never saw it in a
picture. Keeps his hedges well; this one is like a board on the top,
thorn-boughs molten together; a hare could run along it (as they
will sometimes with harriers behind them, and jump off the other
side to baffle scent). Now, why is Bartholomew doing his land better
this year? Keen old fellow! Something behind this. Has he got that
bit of money that was coming to him? Done something, they said, last
Doncaster; no one could get anything out of him. Dark as night. Sold
the trainer some oats--that I know. Wonder how much the trainer
pocketed over that transaction? Expect he d