Inside The Round
Bonnet A Ruddy, Apple-Checked Face, Just Such A One As Used To Go To Mass
In Sir John The Priest's Time, Before The Images Were Knocked Out Of The
Rood-Loft At The Church There.
The boys and girls play in the ditches
till they go to school, and they play in the hedges
And ditches every
hour they can get out of school, and the moment their time is up they go
to work among the hedges and ditches, and though they may have had to
read standard authors at school, no sooner do they get among the furrows
than they talk hedge and ditch language. They do not talk Pope, or
Milton, or Addison; they 'knaaws,' 'they be a-gwoin thur,' it's a 'geat,'
and a 'vield,' and a 'vurrow.' These are the old faces you see, the same
old powers are at work to fashion them. Heavy, blind blows of the Wind,
the Rain, Frost, and Heat, have beaten up their faces in rude - repousse -
work. They have nails in their boots, but new hats on their heads; he who
paints them aright should paint the old nailed boots, but also the new
hats and the Waltham watches. Why do they not read? All have been taught,
and curious as the inconsistency may seem, they all value the privilege
of being - able - to read and write, and yet they do not exercise it,
except in a casual, random way.
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