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Book, page 41 / 221 scraped a little mud off his old gaiters with his spud, and waited. "All I say is that you can put up larch and make a temp'ry job of it; and by the time the young master's married it'll have to be done again. Now, I've brought down a couple of as sweet six-by-eight oak timbers as we've ever drawed. You put 'em in an' it's off your mind or good an' all. T'other way--I don't say it ain't right, I'm only just sayin' what I think--but t'other way, he'll no sooner be married than we'll lave it all to do again. You've no call to regard my words, but you can't get out of that." "No," said George after a pause; "I've been realising that for some time. Make it oak then; we can't get out of it." THE RECALL I am the land of their fathers, In me the virtue stays; I will bring back my children, After certain days. Under their feet in the grasses My clinging magic runs. They shall return as strangers, They shall remain as sons. Over their heads in the branches Of their new-bought, ancient trees, I weave an incantation, And draw them to my knees. Scent of smoke in the evening, Smell of rain in the night, The hours, the days and the seasons Order their souls aright; Till I make plain the meaning Of all my thousand years Till I fill their hearts with knowledge, While I fill their eyes with tears.
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