Just between the root and the stalk it has decayed till nothing but a narrow strip connects the dry upper part with the earth.

The moucher sells the nests and eggs of small birds to townsfolk who cannot themselves wander among the fields, but who love to see something that reminds them of the green meadows.
As the season advances and the summer comes he gathers vast quantities of dandelion leaves, parsley, sowthistle, clover, and so forth, as food for the tame rabbits kept in towns.

If his haunt be not far from a river, he spends hours collecting bait--worm and grub and fly--for the boatmen, who sell them again to the anglers.
Again there is work in the meadows--the haymaking is about, and the farmers are anxious for men.

But the moucher passes by and looks for quaking grass, bunches of which have a ready sale.

Fledgeling goldfinches and linnets, young rabbits, young squirrels, even the nest of the harvest-trow mouse, and occasionally a snake, bring him in a little money.