"Marnen, neighbour Trenchard," he said. "Marnen, Mr. Noakes," returned the farmer, with the air of timidity that marked all his intercourse with his neighbour. The two men stood together, Noakes smug and self-satisfied, Trenchard downcast and almost humble. "It do seem you’d be the better for a drop of rain," Noakes went on. "The ground be dust dry. Them there carrots baint no good." "True; I’m afeared ’twill be a bad year wi’ me." "Well, we’re in the hands of Them above," said Noakes, smiling and rubbing his hands slowly together. "The old ancient men of Egypt had their lean years and their years of plenty; we can’t look for no different in these here end o’ the world times." "Ah, Mr. Noakes, I don’t gainsay ’ee, but ’tud hev made all the difference to me, a good moist season. I be afeard I shall have to axe ’ee——" "Not a word, neighbour. Sufficient unto the day, you know. Not but what ’tis a misfortune to ’ee, but things may take a turn." He thrust his hands into his pockets and stood for a few moments scanning the fields; then after a word or two of a general nature moved away, without having appeared to notice the two boys. "Cut dead!" said Eves with a grin. "A good thing too; I loathe the fellow. Poor old Trenchard will be wretched all the rest of the day. I wonder why he always looks so hang-dog when Noakes is about? He couldn’t look worse if Noakes was his landlord and he couldn’t pay the rent. And upon my word, Noakes has cheek enough for two. I saw him prodding the cattle the other day as if he owned ’em, or would like to. What do you think about it?" "Eh? about Noakes? I wasn’t thinking of him," said Templeton. "I was wondering whether we couldn’t do something to help save the old man’s crops." "Well, old chap, if you can invent rain——" "Don’t be an ass. Of course I can’t. But I don’t see why we shouldn’t irrigate, as they do in India." "We haven’t got an Indus, and the river down there is too far away, and below this level. You can’t make water run up-hill." "But there’s the brook just at the edge of the field, behind that ridge. All we’ve to do is to divert it." "My good man, it’s miles below the top of the ridge. Besides, there’s not much water at the best." "There’s enough. We should have to build a dam, of course. Then the water would collect till it rose to the height of the ridge and flowed over, and we could carry it over the fields through small drains. You see, the stream runs straight to the sea; there are no fishing rights to consider, and it’s not used for mills or anything of that sort." "A jolly back-aching job, digging drains and what not. No chance of a rag. Still, the idea’s good enough, and I’d like to see old Trenchard more cheerful. You had better see what he says about it."