‘Mine be a very long family, too,’ he began, having evidently remarked the happy results which had ensued from Bundy’s plea. Rosalie stopped him: ‘Well, I will give you another chance, Cross,’ she said. ‘Next time, think twice before you follow a bad leader. As for you, Abel Hunt,’ she said, turning sternly to that gentleman, ‘I am at a loss to know what you can have to say—in fact, I have no wish to hear it, whatever it may be. You must go. No apology can atone for your insolence yesterday.’ ‘And how be you goin’ to manage about them pigs?’ inquired Abel plaintively. ‘That is no concern of yours.’ ‘Mr. Sharpe was a-speakin’ to me yesterday,’ put in Job, very humbly, for his courage was fast oozing away, ‘an’ he did say ’twould be terrible ill-convenient for ’ee to have so many chaps a-leavin’ together, an’ so me an’ my brother agreed as we’d ax to stop on.’ ‘I can do very well without you,’ retorted Mrs. Fiander tartly. ‘No, Job, you have behaved too badly. You have been the ringleader of this disgraceful business—you must certainly go.’ ‘On Saturday week?’ faltered Job. ‘Yes, Saturday week—you _and_ Abel. How Abel can suppose I could possibly keep him after such conduct, I can’t imagine. I certainly will not.’ ‘Mr. Sharpe did say’—Job was beginning, now almost in tears, when she interrupted him relentlessly. ‘Never mind what Mr. Sharpe said. I have quite made up my mind as to what I shall do.’ She was thoroughly in earnest, and the men knew it. They fell back ruefully, and their young mistress returned to the house, carrying her head very high and setting her face sternly. When her work was over that afternoon she set out, with a business-like air, on what seemed to be a tour of inspection; first walking briskly along the rows of pigsties, the condition of which had on the day before given rise to so much controversy. All was now as it should be; Abel, Sam, and one or two of the other subordinates having devoted their attention to them at early dawn. Here were pigs of every age and degree, from the venerable matron to the spry young porker just beginning to devote himself to the serious business of life—namely, growing fat. Seventy-two in all, and most of them doomed to destruction within a few months: that was the part of the economy of farming which Rosalie most disliked; it was the blot on the otherwise poetical and peaceful avocation. But she had hitherto been taught to consider the presence of these pigs an absolute necessity. Was this really the case? Might not she, with her woman’s wit, devise some better expedient by means of which the obnoxious animals could be dispensed with, and at the same time waste of skim-milk and whey avoided?