"True, he said he’d like to see any one try it," said Coggins. "The gen’l’man only took him at his word—hee, hee!" Aware now of the pitfall into which he had fallen, Nahum broke away from the constable, plunged through the crowd, and hurried away, followed closely by his father. "A rare good randy, sir," said the smith to Eves, "but I hope Philemon won’t make ’ee pay for it. Howsomever, Nahum’s tongue won’t wag no more, maybe, and that’ll be for the good o’ the nation." "Another ripping day, Bob," said Eves, as he walked home with Templeton. "That idea of yours was splendid." "I was quite serious," said Templeton. "You always are, old man. But you don’t mean to say you really meant to feel the fellow’s bumps?" "I did, till I funked the bear’s grease." "And there really is a bump of pugnacity?" "Of course there is—combativeness, they call it. It’s at the back, low down. The fellow hadn’t got a trace of it. I really think——" "You’ll be the death of me, Bob. A fellow who lashed out like that not combative? Why, you can see it in his face—bully’s written there as plain as a pikestaff. It’s jolly lucky you’ve got me to work out your ideas! Anyway, it was a good rag, well worth half-a-crown." "What do you mean?" "Well, I tipped old Haylock half-a-crown to barge in if he heard a row. That leaves me four and elevenpence halfpenny." A few days later Lieutenant Cradock, military representative at the county tribunal, rode over on his motor-bicycle and had a short interview with Constable Haylock. With the constable perched on the carrier he went on to Trenchard’s farm, and found Eves and Templeton digging energetically along the border of a field. A conversation ensued, freely punctuated with laughter, and the officer rode away. Next day a summons reached Nahum Noakes to attend an adjourned meeting of the tribunal. The chairman announced that an incident reported by the military representative hardly squared with the appellant’s professions, and Nahum Noakes, passed A1, was handed over to the military authorities. *II* Spring and summer had been very dry, and Farmer Trenchard’s fields, lying on a rocky upland, gave promise of but an indifferent harvest. The growth was thin, the stalks were short and yellow, the husks lean. The farmer had almost given up hope of his cereals, and his root crops could only be saved if the drought was soon broken. On the morning following the affair of Nahum Noakes’s bumps Mr. Trenchard was walking along the edge of one of his fields, looking disconsolately at the drooping upper-growth of the carrots. Eves and Templeton were hoeing some little distance away. "Here’s old Noakes," said Eves, suddenly. "Wonder if he’s come to grouse about yesterday?" Mr. Noakes, dressed as usual in his rusty frock-coat, but wearing a new straw slouch hat—his old one had not survived its bath of soot—was shambling up the field to meet the farmer.