The same notes tell me of nests built against the pile of account-books
in a distillery; in a fur cap relegated to the wall until the return of
winter; in the hollow of a brick, back to back with the downy structure
of a Cotton-bee; on the sides of a bag of oats; in a piece of lead
tubing broken off from an old water-pipe.
I saw something more remarkable still in the kitchen at Roberty, one of
the biggest farms near Avignon. It was a large room with a very wide
fireplace, in which the soup for the farm-hands and the food for the
cattle were simmering in a row of pots and pans. The labourers used to
come in from the fields so many at a time, take their seats on benches
round the table and devour the portions served to them, with the silent
haste that denotes a keen appetite. To enjoy this half-hour of comfort,
they would take off their hats and smocks and hang them on pegs on the
wall. Short though the meal was, it lasted long enough to allow the
Pelopæi to inspect the garments and take possession of them. The inside
of a straw hat was recognized as a most useful retreat; the folds of a
smock were looked upon as a shelter which could be turned to excellent
account; and the work of building started forthwith. On rising from
table, one of the men would shake his smock, another his hat, to rid it
of a heap of mud that was already the size of an acorn.
When the labourers had gone, I had a talk with the cook. She told me of
her tribulations: those impudent Bugs were all over the place, dirtying
everything with their filth. She was chiefly concerned about the
window-curtains. Dabs of mud on the ceiling, on the walls, on the
chimneypiece you could put up with; but it was a very different matter
when you found them on the linen and the curtains. To keep the curtains
clean and dislodge the wretched things who persisted in bringing in
their bits of mud, she had to shake them every day, to beat them with a
bamboo. And it was all no use: next morning, work was resumed with
equal vigour on the buildings destroyed the day before.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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