full bloom, crowded to the very kitchen doors, the moist ground beneath the trees already white with the tender petals that fell before the rough May wind. Behind the cherry orchard rose the ordered ranks of the apple orchard barely in bud, excepting a few crab-apple trees in pink flower, that filled the air with their lovely scent. West and south of the orchards were the plantations of small fruits, and, beyond them, fields and pastures, and a dark pine wood.
Derek could see a group of figures kneeling among the rows of an immense strawberry bed, over which the collie was scampering, barking in scatter-brain fashion at the circling gulls. He saw Newbigging and Gunn and three barelegged village boys placing little plants in a shallow trench. Mrs. Machin stood over them, directing the "puddling" of the roots in a basin of earth and water, and the position of them in the trench.
"We're settin' out some fresh strawberry plants," she explained. "Them's Mistwell lads helping us, and they'd do naught but scuffle if I didn't watch them."
"Where are the others?"
"Hugh McKay is plowing, and Windmill has gone back to look for the horses. Phoebe's feedin' the calves."
"What buildings are those on up the road?"
"Mr. Jerrold's stables, and Hobbs's house. You can't see Jerrold's house from here. Those are his orchards beyond the lane, and his house is hid by them. It stands far from the road, with its back against a big wood."
"I met the overseer, Hobbs, last night."
"He's a sharp 'un. But I don't see how Mr. Jerrold could get on without him. As it is, they can't raise fodder enough off that great place to feed their own creatures, but have to come buyin' hay off us."
