idedly wet; but they looked enviably easy-going and
unconcerned. As they went by me one after another, one sleepy-eyed man,
comfortably smoking his pipe, vouchsafed no word or glance. But the
others, with friendly sidelong glance at me, all spoke; and their placid
voices were full of rich contentment. "Good-night"; "Nice _rain_";
"G'd-evenin'"; and, last of all, "_This_'ll make the young taters grow!"
The man who said this looked all alert, as if the blood were dancing in
him with enjoyment of the rain; his eyes were beaming with pleasure. So
the five passed up the hill homewards, to have some supper, and then,
perhaps, watch and listen to the rain on their gardens until it was time
to go to bed.

I ought to mention, though I may hardly illustrate, one faculty which is
a great support to many of the men--I mean the masculine gift of
"humour." Not playful-witted like the women, nor yet apt, like the
women, to refresh their spirits in the indulgence of sentiment and
emotion, but rather stolid and inclined to dim brooding thought, they
are able to see the laughable side of their own misadventures and
discomforts; and thanks to this they keep a sense of proportion, as
though perceiving that if their labour accomplishes its end, it does not
really matter that they get tired, or dirty, or wet through in doing
it. This is a social gift, of small avail to the men working alone in
their gardens; but it serves them well during the day's work with their
mates, or when two or three of them together tackle some job of their
own, such as cleaning out a well, or putting up a fowl-house. Then, if
somebody gets splashed, or knocks his knuckles, and softly swears, his
wrath turns to a grin as the little dry chuckle or the sly remark from
the others reminds him that his feelings are understood. It is well
worth while to be present at these times. I laugh now to think of some
of them that I have enjoyed; but I will not risk almost certain failure
in trying to describe them, for their flavour depends on minute details
into which I have no space to enter.

But whatever alleviations there may be to their troubles, the people's
geniality is still noteworthy. In circumstances that contrast so
pitifully with those of the employing classes, it would seem natural if
they were full of bitterness and envy; yet that is by no means the case.
Being born to poverty and the labouring life, they accept the position
as if it were entirely natural. Of cour