The flush of annoyance still lingered on her face, and, while she ate, her glance wandered through the window to the premises without. She could hear Robert Cross and James Bundy leisurely leading out the horses, inducing them with many objurgations to stand while they were being harnessed to the rattling, creaking mower. How slow they were! They should have been in the field hours ago, and yet they slouched about as though the beautiful golden morning were not already half over. Now, at last they were starting—no, here was James coming back for something they had forgotten. Rising hastily from her chair, she leaned out of the open window, tapping impatiently on the pane. ‘What are you about, Bundy? Why on earth don’t you try and make a little more haste?’ ‘Mum?’ gasped Bundy, turning round a vacant, weather-beaten countenance adorned with the smallest fraction of a nose which it was possible for the face of man to possess. ‘I say, why don’t you make more haste when you have lost so much time already?’ ‘I be making so much haste as ever I can,’ responded James, much aggrieved. ‘I be just a-comin’ to fetch the ile-can. ’T would n’t be no use to get to work without the ile-can.’ ‘Why did n’t you think about the oil-can while Cross was harnessing the horses? ’t is nearly eight o’clock—you have lost half your morning’s work.’ Bundy looked up at the sky; then, still in an aggrieved manner, at his mistress. ‘We was all so upset,’ he was beginning, when she interrupted him fiercely: ‘Don’t let me hear another word about your being upset! If I can attend to my business, you can attend to yours, I should think. ’T is but an excuse for disgraceful laziness.’ ‘We _was_ upset,’ asserted Bundy with much dignity, ‘and, as for bein’ behind, if it comes to that we can keep on workin’ a bit later this a’ternoon.’ ‘You must certainly work later this afternoon; but how long will this fine weather last, think you? Besides, you know as well as I do that it is much better for the horses to work in the early morning. There! get started now, and try to make up for lost time.’ She returned to her breakfast, and James rejoined his companion at a slightly accelerated pace. But, by-and-by, her attention was caught by the sound of voices, apparently in placid conversation. Back to the window again flew she: the village carpenter, who was supposed to be repairing the yard-gate, had just arrived, and was leaning negligently against one of the posts, while Abel Hunt, Job’s brother, a large bucket of pig-food in either hand, was leisurely talking to him. ‘I will give them a few minutes,’ said Rosalie to herself. ‘After all, I must n’t be too hard on them.’ Once more she went back to the table, finished her egg, and drank her second cup of tea, the trickle of talk meanwhile continuing without ceasing.