who had worked in this country for many years and is now in America. The
woman is English and amiable, but the proximity of anything so reminiscent
of Germany is painful to the village, and especially to the landlord, whose
views about Germans can hardly be put into words.

"I should hope there'll be no prisoners took after _this_," he says grimly
whenever he hears of a new outrage. "Vermin--that's what they are," he
says, "and they should be treated according-ly."

The Germans, in fact, have become the substitute for every term of
execration, even with mild David the labourer. He came into the orchard
last evening staggering under a 15-ft. ladder. We had decided that if we
were going to have the pears before the wasps had spoiled them we must pick
them at once.

"It's a wunnerful crop," said David. "I've knowed this pear-tree [looking
up at one of them from the foot of his ladder] for twenty-five year, and
I've never seen such a crop on it afore."

Then he mounted the ladder and began to pick the fruit.

"Well, I'm blowed," he said, "if they ain't been at 'em a'ready." And he
flung down pear after pear scooped out by the wasps close to the stalk.
"Reg'lar Germans--that's what they are," he said. "Look at 'em round that
hive," he went on. "They'll hev all the honey and them bees will starve and
git the Isle o' Wight--that's what they'll git.... Lor," he added,
reflectively, "I dunno what wospses are made for--wospses _and_ Germans. It
gits over me."

I said it got over me too. And then from among the branches, while I hung