Meanwhile the harvest-work on the lands of Ringsford Manor was progressing rapidly—to the surprise of the neighbours, who had heard that Mr Hadleigh could not obtain hands, owing to his craze about the beer question. He did not obtain much sympathy in the district in this attempted social revolution. It was known that he was not a teetotaler himself; and most of the proprietors and farmers and all the labourers took Caleb Kersey’s view, that apart from the question whether beer was good or bad for them, this autocratic refusal of it to those who preferred to have it was an interference with the liberty of the subject. As he passed through the market-place, a band of labourers had shouted in chorus the old rhyme: ‘Darn his eyes, whoever tries, to rob a poor man of his beer.’ But in spite of this determined opposition, here was a strong troop of men and women clearing the ground so fast that it looked as if the Ringsford cutting and ingathering would be completed as soon as that of any other farm. And the beer was not allowed on the field. This was wonderful: but a greater wonder still was the fact that the hands who had been so swiftly brought together were working under Caleb Kersey himself—Caleb, the peasants’ champion, the temperance defender of every man’s right to get drunk if he liked! There were mutterings of discontent amongst his followers: there were whispers that he had been heavily bribed to desert their cause; and those who had previously deserted him, shook their heavy heads, declaring that they ‘knowed what was a-coming.’ ‘It ain’t fair on him—he ain’t acting square by me,’ Jacob Cone, the Ringsford bailiff, had been heard to say in the _Cherry Tree_ taproom. ‘He comes and he takes my place, and does whatever master wants, when I was a-trying to get master to let folk have their own way, as they’ve been allays ’customed to.’ That was Jacob’s first and last grumble; for Caleb, hearing of it, took him to every one of the hands, and each made the same statement: ‘We can do without the beer. We gave it up because we choose to, and not because we’re forced to.’ For the rest, Caleb contented himself with saying simply: ‘I ain’t working for Mr Hadleigh, and I wasn’t hired by him.’ ‘Daresay he contracted with some un?’ A nod would be the response to his inquisitive friend; and Caleb would proceed with his work as earnestly as if his life depended upon accomplishing a given task within the day. His example inspired the younger men with some spirit of emulation, and the women, old and young, with admiration. The old stagers bluntly told him at the close of the first day that they could not keep pace with him, and did not mean to try. ‘Do the best you can, lads, and you’ll satisfy me,’ was all he said.