Although anecdotes, as in the preceding conversations, form the most salient feature in Bettesworth's talk, it must not be supposed that in his own mind they occupy a place of any importance. It is true that he likes a tale. Only a few days ago we somehow started the subject of smuggling, and he remarked that, when away harvesting by the Sussex coast, he has “sat up all night listenin' to 'em yarnin'” about the exploits of smugglers, years ago. But his true interest is that which he shares with all the other villagers—interest in their work, and especially in the management of their gardens. For the exigencies of the soil are so peculiar, varying so much from day to day and from one crop to another, and demanding so much judgment and experience to meet them, that we dwell upon the subject, discussing it as eagerly as a game of skill. That is, in truth, its character, with the added excitement of a large element of chance afforded by the vagaries of the weather. And hence almost all of Bettesworth's stories related here have had a close connection with his work. As a rule they have emerged from long stretches of easy comment upon his doings—heaved up from it and falling into it again as unheeded by him as stones when he is digging the ground.

Doubtless this gardening talk goes on throughout the length and breadth of England, for every different soil has its own peculiarities much studied by those who work upon it.