(The bay described here would have been my Great Uncle Hugh born in 1902. Otherwise known as brown eyes in later posts)
Better day and it is possible to sit outside for a little while in a rocky place where there is a wealth of wild flowers, chiefly white and yellow, with a sprinkling of blue chicory. I thought it would be pleasant to have baby sitting on a rug beside me while I wrote but his presence is not a little distracting. He is so eager for my paper that I must give him a sheet which he tears and chews.
Then when he tires of that, I gather him a bunch of flowers and grasses which are all duly sampled and tasted. But ah, my pen is irresistible. He must catch it. So, to prevent mischief, he is carried away, the pink feet and dappled legs kicking in frustrated rage.
At noon, some unwholesome-looking children appear with a can and a small dirty piece of folded paper. We know they are from the shiftless wife of one of the men. The note explains that they want milk, eggs and “2 shillin to by coles to make the tea.” In a postscript, she adds plaintively “my fute is very bad.” We have explained that she cannot have money (to go to the public house) except on pay day but she never loses hope that the hard-hearted master or mistress may some day give her “a shillin.’”
The big cart shed is to-day being divided into pens for calves. Some of them had a touch of hoose last month and still cough after milk but it has been checked by timely doses of turpentine. We never had this trouble among the young stock till two years ago, but now that certain of the pastures are infected there will be danger of it every autumn.