Walking one afternoon by a high
unkept hedge near Southampton Water, I heard loud shouts at
intervals issuing from a point some distance ahead, and on
arriving at the spot found an old man leaning idly over a
gate, apparently concerned about nothing. "What are you
shouting about?" I demanded. "Cows," he answered, with a
glance across the wide green field dotted with a few big furze
and bramble bushes. On its far side half a dozen cows were,
quietly grazing. "They came fast enough when I was a-feeding
of 'em," he presently added; "but now they has to find for
theirselves they don't care how long they keeps me." I was
going to suggest that it would be a considerable saving of
time if he went for them, but his air of lazy contentment as
he leant on the gate showed that time was of no importance to
him. He was a curious-looking old man, in old frayed clothes,
broken boots, and a cap too small for him. He had short legs,
broad chest, and long arms, and a very big head, long and
horselike, with a large shapeless nose and grizzled beard and
moustache. His ears, too, were enormous, and stood out from
the head like the handles of a rudely shaped terra-cotta vase
or jar. The colour of his face, the ears included, suggested
burnt clay. But though Nature had made him ugly, he had an
agreeable expression, a sweet benign look in his large dark
eyes, which attracted me, and I stayed to talk with him.
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