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The dairyman, who had thrown himself into abstraction to better realize the taste, and so divine the particular species of noxious weed to which it appertained, suddenly exclaimed—

‘’Tis garlic! and I thought there wasn’t a blade left in that mead!’

Then all the old hands remembered that a certain dry mead, into which a few of the cows had been admitted of late, had, in years gone by, spoilt the butter in the same way. The dairyman had not recognised the taste at that time, and thought the butter bewitched.

‘We must overhaul that mead,’ he resumed; ‘this mustn’t continny!’

All having armed themselves with old pointed knives they went out together. As the inimical plant could only be present in very microscopic dimensions to have escaped ordinary observation, to find it seemed rather a hopeless attempt in the stretch of rich grass before them. However, they formed themselves into line, all assisting, owing to the importance of the search; the dairyman at the upper end with Mr. Clare, who had

volunteered to help; then Tess, Marian, Izz Huett, and Retty; then Bill Lewell, Jonathan,