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“
’
Tis
garlic
!
and
I
thought
there
wasn
’
t
a
blade
left
in
that
mead
!
”
Then
all
the
old
hands
remembered
that
a
certain
dry
mead
,
into
which
a
few
of
the
cows
had
been
admitted
of
late
,
had
,
in
years
gone
by
,
spoilt
the
butter
in
the
same
way
.
The
dairyman
had
not
recognized
the
taste
at
that
time
,
and
thought
the
butter
bewitched
.
“
We
must
overhaul
that
mead
,
”
he
resumed
;
“
this
mustn
’
t
continny
!
”
All
having
armed
themselves
with
old
pointed
knives
they
went
out
together
.
As
the
inimical
plant
could
only
be
present
in
very
microscopic
dimensions
to
have
escaped
ordinary
observation
,
to
find
it
seemed
rather
a
hopeless
attempt
in
the
stretch
of
rich
grass
before
them
.
However
,
they
formed
themselves
into
line
,
all
assisting
,
owing
to
the
importance
of
the
search
;
the
dairyman
at
the
upper
end
with
Mr
Clare
,
who
had
volunteered
to
help
;
then
Tess
,
Marian
,
Izz
Huett
,
and
Retty
;
then
Bill
Lewell
,
Jonathan
,
and
the
married
dairywomen
—
Beck
Knibbs
,
with
her
wooly
black
hair
and
rolling
eyes
;
and
flaxen
Frances
,
consumptive
from
the
winter
damps
of
the
water
-
meads
—
who
lived
in
their
respective
cottages
.
With
eyes
fixed
upon
the
ground
they
crept
slowly
across
a
strip
of
the
field
,
returning
a
little
further
down
in
such
a
manner
that
,
when
they
should
have
finished
,
not
a
single
inch
of
the
pasture
but
would
have
fallen
under
the
eye
of
some
one
of
them
.
It
was
a
most
tedious
business
,
not
more
than
half
a
dozen
shoots
of
garlic
being
discoverable
in
the
whole
field
;
yet
such
was
the
herb
’
s
pungency
that
probably
one
bite
of
it
by
one
cow
had
been
sufficient
to
season
the
whole
dairy
’
s
produce
for
the
day
.
Differing
one
from
another
in
natures
and
moods
so
greatly
as
they
did
,
they
yet
formed
,
bending
,
a
curiously
uniform
row
—
automatic
,
noiseless
;
and
an
alien
observer
passing
down
the
neighbouring
lane
might
well
have
been
excused
for
massing
them
as
“
Hodge
”
.
As
they
crept
along
,
stooping
low
to
discern
the
plant
,
a
soft
yellow
gleam
was
reflected
from
the
buttercups
into
their
shaded
faces
,
giving
them
an
elfish
,
moonlit
aspect
,
though
the
sun
was
pouring
upon
their
backs
in
all
the
strength
of
noon
.
Angel
Clare
,
who
communistically
stuck
to
his
rule
of
taking
part
with
the
rest
in
everything
,
glanced
up
now
and
then
.
It
was
not
,
of
course
,
by
accident
that
he
walked
next
to
Tess
.
“
Well
,
how
are
you
?
”
he
murmured
.
