e point or other every day, the provision for bare
physical needs falls a little short.

VII

GOOD TEMPER

In view of their unpromising circumstances the people as a rule are
surprisingly cheerful. It is true there are never any signs in the
valley of that almost festive temper, that glad relish of life, which,
if we may believe the poets, used to characterize the English village of
old times. Tested by that standard of happiness, it is a low-spirited,
mirthless, and all but silent population that we have here now. Of
public and exuberant enjoyment there is nothing whatever. And yet,
subdued though they may be, the cottagers usually manage to keep in
tolerable spirits. A woman made me smile the other day. I had seen her
husband a week earlier, and found him rheumatic and despondent; but when
I inquired how he did, she conceded, with a laugh: "Yes, he had a bit o'
rheumatism, but he's better now. He 'ad the 'ump then, too." I inferred
that she regarded his dejection as quite an unnecessary thing; and this
certainly is the customary attitude. The people are slow to admit that
they are unhappy. At a "Penny Readings" an entertainer caused some
displeasure by a quite innocent joke in this connection. Coming through
the village, he noticed the sign of one of the public-houses--The Happy
Home--and invented a conundrum which he put from the platform: "Why was
this a very miserable village?" But the answer, "Because it has only one
Happy Home in it," gave considerable offence. For we are not used to
these subtleties of language, and the point was missed, a good many folk
protesting that we have "a _lot_ o' happy homes" here.

That they should be so touchy about it is perhaps suggestive--pitifully
suggestive--of a suspicion in them that their happiness is open to
question. None the less, the general impression conveyed by the people's
manners is that of a quiet and rather cheery humour, far indeed from
gaiety, but farther still from wretchedness. And in matters like this
one's senses are not deceived. I know that my neighbours have abundant
excuses for being down-hearted; and, as described in an earlier chapter,
I sometimes overhear their complainings; but more often than not the
evidence of voice-tones and stray words is reassuring rather than
dispiriting.

Notice, for instance, the women who have done their shopping in the town
early in the morning, and are coming home for a day's work. They are out
of breath, and