He raced up the meadow and found the labourer, with his thick white leather gloves and billhook, putting thorn bushes in the gaps, which no one had made so much as Bevis himself. “Come and help me,” said Bevis. Now John was willing enough to leave his work and help Bevis do anything--for anything is sweeter than the work you ought to do--besides which he knew he could get Bevis to bring him out a huge mug of ale for it. But he grinned and said nothing, and simply pointed through the hedge. Bevis looked, and there was the Bailiff with his back against the great oak, under which he once went to sleep. The Bailiff was older now, much older, and though he was so stout and big he did not do much work with his hands. He stood there, leaning his back against the oak, with his hazel staff in his hand, watching the stone-pickers, who were gathering up the bits of broken earthenware and rubbish from among the cowslips out of the way of the scythe; watching, too, the plough yonder in the arable field beyond; and with his eyes now and then on John. While those grey eyes were about, work, you may be sure, was not slack. So Bevis pouted, and picked up a stone, and threw it at the Bailiff, taking good care, however, not to hit him. The stone fell in the hedge behind the Bailiff, and made him start, as he could not think what creature it could be, for rabbits and weasels and other animals and birds move as silently as possible, and this made a sharp tap. Bevis returned slowly down the meadow, and as he came near the house, having now given up hope of getting the raft to the brook, he caught sight of a cart-horse outside the stable. He ran and found the carter’s lad, who had been sent home with the horse; the horse had been hauling small pieces of timber out of the mowing-grass with a chain, and the lad was just going to take off the harness. “Stop,” said Bevis, “stop directly, and hitch the chain on my raft.” The boy hesitated; he dared not disobey the carter, and he had been in trouble for pleasing Bevis before. “This instant,” said Bevis, stamping his foot; “I’m your master.” “No; that you beant,” said the boy slowly, very particular as to facts; “your feyther be my master.” “You do it this minute,” said Bevis, hot in the face, “or I’ll _kill_ you; but if you’ll do it I’ll give you--sixpence.” The boy still hesitated, but he grinned; then he looked round, then he turned the horse’s head--unwilling, for the animal thought he was going to the manger--and did as Bevis told him. Behind the strong cart-horse the raft was nothing, it left a trail all across the grass right down to the brook; Bevis led the way to the drinking-place, where the ground sloped to the water. The boy once embarked in the business, worked with a will--highly delighted himself with the idea--and he and Bevis together pushed the raft into the stream. “Now you hold the rope,” said Bevis, “while I get in,” and he put one foot on the raft.