he house to put it in his
nest, but the depending straw was caught by the breeze as a sail, and
carried him past.

Under the wall was a large patch recently dug, beside the patch a grass
path, and on the path a wheelbarrow. A man was busy putting in potatoes;
he wore the raggedest coat ever seen on a respectable back. As the wind
lifted the tails it was apparent that the lining was loose and only hung
by threads, the cuffs were worn through, there was a hole beneath each
arm, and on each shoulder the nap of the cloth was gone; the colour,
which had once been grey, was now a mixture of several soils and
numerous kinds of grit. The hat he had on was no better; it might have
been made of some hard pasteboard, it was so bare. Every now and then
the wind brought a few handfuls of dust over the wall from the road, and
dropped it on his stooping back.

The way in which he was planting potatoes was wonderful, every potato
was placed at exactly the right distance apart, and a hole made for it
in the general trench; before it was set it was looked at and turned
over, and the thumb rubbed against it to be sure that it was sound, and
when finally put in, a little mould was delicately adjusted round to
keep it in its right position till the whole row was buried. He carried
the potatoes in his coat pocket--those, that is, for the row--and took
them out one by one; had he been planting his own children he could not
have been more careful. The science, the skill, and the experience
brought to this potato-planting you would hardly credit; for all this
care was founded upon observation, and arose from very large abilities
on the part of the planter, though directed to so humble a purpose at
that moment.

So soon as Amaryllis had recovered breath, she ran down the grass path
and stood by the wheelbarrow, but although her shadow fell across the
potato row, he would not see her.

"Pa," she said, not very loud. "Pa," growing bolder. "Do come--there's a
daffodil out, the very, very first."

"Oh," a sound like a growl--"oh," from the depth of a vast chest
heaving out a doubtful note.

"It is such a beautiful colour!"

"Where is your mother?" looking at her askance and still stooping.

"Indoors--at least--I think--no----"

"Haven't you got no sewing? Can't you help her? What good be you on?"

"But this is such a lovely daffodil, and the very first--now do come!"

"Flowers bean't no use on; such trumpery as that; what do'ee want
a-