A POEM OF FRIENDSHIP The magnificent promise of spring was broken before the May-blossom was out. All through the beloved month the wind rushed in upon us from the north and north-east, bringing the rain fierce and heavy. The tender-budded trees and moaned; when the wind was dry, the young leaves flapped limp. The grass and corn grew lush, but the light of the dandelions was quite extinguished, and it seemed that only a long time back had we made merry before the broad glare of these flowers. The lingered and lingered; they fringed the fields for weeks like purple fringe of mourning. The pink campions came out only to hang heavy with rain; buds remained tight and hard as pearls, shrinking into the brilliant green ; the forget-me-nots, the poor pleiades of the wood, were weeds. Often at the end of the day the sky opened, and stately clouds hung over the horizon far away, glowing, through the yellow distance, with an . They never came any nearer, always they remained far off, looking calmly and over the shivering earth, then saddened, fearing their radiance might be dimmed, they drew away, and sank out of sight. Sometimes, towards sunset, a great shield stretched dark from the west to the zenith, the light along its edges. As the rose higher, it broke, , and the sky was coloured, high and pale above the crystal moon. Then the cattle among the gorse, by the cold, while the long-billed snipe round high overhead, round and round in great circles, seeming to carry a serpent from its throat, and crying a tragedy, more painful than the lamentations and protests of the peewits. Following these evenings came mornings cold and grey.
 
Such a morning I went up to George, on the top fallow. His father was out with the milk—he was alone; as I came up the hill I could see him in the cart, over the bare red fields; I could hear his voice calling now and then to the , and the creak and clank of the cart as it moved on. Starlings and smart wagtails were running briskly over the clods, and many little birds flashed, fluttered, here and there. The lapwings wheeled and cried as ever between the low clouds and the earth, and some ran beautifully among the , too and for the rough field.
 
I took a fork and the manure along the hollows, and thus we worked, with a wide field between us, yet very near in the sense of . I watched him through the wheeling peewits, as the low clouds went stealthily overhead. Beneath us, the of the poplars in the spinney were warm gold, as if the blood shone through. Further gleamed the grey water, and below it the red roofs. Nethermere was half hidden and far away. There was nothing in this grey, lonely world but the peewits swinging and crying, and George swinging silently at his work. The movement of active life held all my attention, and when I looked up, it was to see the motion of his limbs and his head, the rise and fall of his body, and the rise and fall of the slow waving peewits. After a while, when the cart was empty, he took a fork and came towards me, working at my task.
 
It began to rain, so he brought a sack from the cart, and we crushed ourselves under the thick hedge. We sat close together and watched the rain fall like a grey striped curtain before us, hiding the valley; we watched it in dark streams off the mare's back, as she stood dejectedly; we listened to the swish of the drops falling all about; we felt the chill of the rain, and drew ourselves together in silence. He smoked his pipe, and I lit a cigarette. The rain continued; all the little and the red earth in the grey gloom. We sat together, speaking occasionally. It was at these times we formed the almost which later years slowly wore away.
 
When the rain was over, we filled our buckets with potatoes, and went along the wet furrows, sticking the spritted tubers in the cold ground. Being sandy, the field dried quickly. About twelve o'clock, when nearly all the potatoes were set, he left me, and fetching up Bob from the far hedge-side, harnessed the mare and him to the ridger, to cover the potatoes. The sharp light plough turned the soil in a fine over the potatoes; hosts of little birds fluttered, settled, bounded off again after the plough. He called to the horses, and they came downhill, the white stars on the two brown noses nodding up and down, George striding firm and heavy behind. They came down upon me; at a call the horses turned, shifting awkwardly sideways; he flung himself against the plough, and leaning well in, brought it round with a sweep: a click, and they are off uphill again. There is a great as the birds sweep round after him and follow up the new turned furrow. Untackling the horses when the rows were all covered, we tramped behind them down the wet hillside to dinner.
 
I kicked through the grass, crushing the cowslips under my , avoiding the purple that were with harsh upbringing, but magnificent in their powerful colouring, crushing the lady smocks, the washed-out wild gillivers. I became conscious of something near my feet, something little and dark, moving indefinitely. I had found again the larkie's nest. I perceived the yellow , the of two tiny , and the blue lines of their wing . The indefinite movement was the swift rise and fall of the brown fledged backs, over which waved long of fine down. The two little of birds lay side by side, to beak, their tiny bodies rising and falling in quick . I gently put down my fingers to touch them; they were warm; gratifying to find them warm, in the midst of so much cold and wet. I became absorbed in them, as an of wind stirred the strands of down. When one fledgling moved uneasily, shifting his soft ball, I was quite excited; but he nestled down again, with his head close to his brother's. In my heart of hearts, I longed for someone to nestle against, someone who would come between me and the coldness and wetness of the surroundings. I envied the two little miracles exposed to any tread, yet so . It seemed as if I were always wandering, looking for something which they had found even before the light broke into their shell. I was cold; the lilacs in the Mill garden looked blue and perished. I ran with my heavy clogs and my heart heavy with vague , down to the Mill, while the wind the sycamores, and pushed the pines rudely, for the pines were sulking because their million creamy sprites could not fly wet-winged. The horse-chestnuts bravely kept their white candles in the of every , though no sun came to light them. a cold swan swept up the water, trailing its black feet, clacking its great hollow wings, rocking the frightened water hens, and insulting the staid black-necked geese. What did I want that I turned thus from one thing to another?
 
At the end of June the weather became fine again. Hay harvest was to begin as soon as it settled. There were only two fields to be mown this year, to provide just enough stuff to last until the spring. As my vacation had begun I I would help, and that we three, the father, George and I, would get in the hay without hired assistance.
 
I rose the first morning very early, before the sun was well up. The clear sound of challenging cocks could be heard along the valley. In the bottoms, over the water and over the lush wet grass, the night mist still stood white and substantial. As I passed along the edge of the meadow the cow-parsnip was as tall as I, frothing up to the top of the hedge, putting the faded hawthorn to a blush. Little, early birds—I had not heard the lark—fluttered in and out of the meadow-sea, under the surf of flowers washed high in one corner, swinging out again, dashing past the sorrel cresset. Under the froth of flowers were the purple vetch-clumps, yellow milk vetches, and the s............