How many do you think there are?
Oh--there seem to be four or five.
Just as there were three or four kinds of flies in the air. Pick them,
child, and count. Let us have facts.
How many? What! a dozen already?
Yes--and here is another, and another. Why, I have got I don't know how
many.
Why not? Bring them here, and let us see. Nine kinds of grasses, and a
rush. Six kinds of clovers and vetches; and besides, dandelion, and
rattle, and oxeye, and sorrel, and plantain, and buttercup, and a little
stitchwort, and pignut, and mouse-ear hawkweed, too, which nobody wants.
Why?
Because they are a sign that I am not a good farmer enough, and have not
quite turned my Wild into Field.
What do you mean?
Look outside the boundary fence, at the moors and woods; they are forest,
Wild--"Wald," as the Germans would call it. Inside the fence is
Field--"Feld," as the Germans would call it. Guess why?
Is it because the trees inside have been felled?
Well, some say so, who know more than I. But now go over the fence, and
see how many of these plants you can find on the moor.
Oh, I think I know. I am so often on the moor.
I think you would find more kinds outside than you fancy. But what do
you know?
That beside some short fine grass about the cattle-paths, there are
hardly any grasses on the moor save deer's hair and glade-grass; and all
the rest is heath, and moss, and furze, and fern.
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