King, Dictator, Emperor, King, Emperor,
Commune, have come and gone, but the sturdy race of farmers sprung from
great-grandfather Anderson still carry on the same way of life in the
same identical spot.
"But I'm not amusing you," says Annie, regretfully. "If only it would
leave off raining we might go out and have a ride on the tin-tan." It
takes me some little time, and a closely-knit series of questions, to
discover that tin-tan is Southshire for see-saw; and I think how
Catherine would laugh at the spectacle of my bobbing up and down on one
end of a plank and this little country damsel at the other. Her
detestable laughter; but, thank Heaven! I need never suffer from it
again.
April 8.--Gloomy again to-day. Ink-coloured rain clouds hanging close
over the hills, their fringe-like lower edges showing ragged across a
pale sky, against which the hills themselves rise dark and sharp. Now
and again a shower of rain falls, but not energetically; the wind blows,
the clouds shift, the rain ceases, and the sky darkens or gleams with a
watery brightness alternately. Looking over the wide landscape and
leaden sea, here and there a patch of sunshine falls, while I myself
walk in gloom; now the sails of a ship catch the radiance, now a
farmstead, now a strip of sand over by Windle Flats.
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