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Updated: May 23, 2025
"It's like having an Earthly Paradise given to you, straight off!" said Harry. "And one that doesn't want weeding," said Adela. "And oh, Mary, Mary!" cried Arthur. "Think of the yards and yards of top-spit.
And the night Arthur sat in my room, talking about compost, he said, "I shall get some good stuff out of Michael, I know; and Harry and I see our way to road-scrapings if we can't get sand; and we mean to take precious good care John doesn't have all the old leaves to himself. It's the top-spit that puzzles us, and loam is the most important thing of all." "What is top-spit?" I asked.
"I won't quarrel with him if he behaves himself," said Arthur, "but we mean to have some top-spit somehow." "If you aggravate him he'll only complain of us to Father." "I know," said Arthur hotly, "and beastly mean of him, too, when he knows what Father is about this sort of thing." "I know it's mean. But what's the good of fighting when you'll only get the worst of it?"
But Harry did not cut any more turfs without leave, for he told me that he had a horrid dream that night of waking up in prison with a warder looking at him through a hole in the door of his cell, and finding out that he was in penal servitude for stealing top-spit from the bottom of the paddock, and Father would not take him out of prison, and that Mother did not know about it.
"It is heavy, I can tell you," said Harry, with one more rub of his dirty fingers over his face. "You look half dead. What is it?" "It's top-spit;" and Harry began to discharge his load on to the walk. "Oh, Harry; where did you get it?" "Out of the paddock. I've been digging up turfs and getting this out, and putting the turfs back, and stamping them down not to show, ever since six o'clock.
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