The news that New Bowden had ‘joined up’ reached the village simultaneously with the report that Steer had ‘shot’ him in London for three hundred pounds and costs for breaking his promise to Molly Winch. The double sensation was delicious. Honours seemed so easy that no one could see which had come off best. It was fairly clear, however, that Molly Winch and the girl Pansy had come off worst. And there was great curiosity to see them. This was not found possible, for Molly Winch was at Weston-super-Mare and the girl Pansy invisible, even by those whose business took them to Bowden’s yard. Bowden himself put in his customary appearance at ‘The Three Stars,’ where he said quite openly that Steer would never see a penny of that money; Steer his customary appearances at church, where he was a warden, and could naturally say nothing. Christmas passed, and the New Year wore on through colourless February and March, when every tree was bare, the bracken’s russet had gone dark-dun, and the hedgerows were songless. Steer’s victory had lost him his niece; she had displayed invincible reluctance to return as a conquering heroine, and had gone into an office. Bowden’s victory had lost him his son, whose training would soon be over now, and whose battalion was in Flanders. Neither of the neighbouring enemies showed by word or sign that they saw any connection between gain and loss; but the schoolmistress met them one afternoon at the end of March seated in their carts face to face in a lane so narrow that some compromise was essential to the passage of either. They had been there without movement long enough for their mares to have begun grazing in the hedge on either hand. Bowden was sitting with folded arms and an expression as of his own bull on his face. Steer’s teeth and eyes were bared very much like a dog’s when it is going to bite. The schoolmistress, who had courage, took hold of Bowden’s mare and backed her. “Now, Mr. Steer,” she said, “pull in to your left, please. You can’t stay here all day, blocking the lane for everybody.” Steer, who after all prized his reputation in the parish, jerked the reins and pulled in to the hedge. And the schoolmistress, without more ado, led Bowden’s mare past, foot by foot. The wheels scraped, both carts jolted slightly; the two farmers’ faces, so close together, moved no muscle, but when the carts had drawn clear, each, as if by agreement, expectorated to his right. The schoolmistress loosed the head of Bowden’s mare and said: “You ought to be ashamed of yourselves, Mr. Bowden; you and Mr. Steer.” “How’s that?” said Bowden. “How’s that indeed? Everybody knows the state of things between you. No good can come of it. In war-time too, when we ought all to be united. Why can’t you shake hands and be friends?” Bowden laughed. “Shake ’ands with that chap? I’d suner shake ’ands with a dead pig. Let ’im get my son back out o’ the Army.” The schoolmistress looked up at him.