’I do not expect payment,’ said Farmer Facey in a mildly deprecatory tone—a tone that implied he would yield the point if pressed. ’I dare say the gentleman, when he gets well, will remember me. And if he don’t, well—he’ll be sure to have relations as will do what be proper and respectable.’ ’It be I,’ said Joyce, defiantly, ’it be I as has to pay, and blast me blue if I don’t.’ ’Where will the money come from?’ asked Facey, surveying her rags. ’I’ll pay wi’ thicky arms!’ said Joyce, thrusting forth her hands. ’See! is there a man among you can work as I can? When the young maister be well, then, sure. I’ll come and work for’y two months by the moon, I will, for the loan of the waggon to-day; and I’ll ax for no meat nor no housing. I’ll feed myself, and I’ll sleep where I can, in the open air.’ ’Her must be one of the Nymet savages, sure-ly,’ said the farmer, in an undertone, to his wife. Joyce’s ears were keen, and she heard him. ’What if I be a savage?’ she asked. ’I baint, like mun [them] to Nymet. Them be proper savages. Vaither be a head above they. He hev a got what he may call his own.’ The waggon was brought to the place, and two men lifted Herring into it. Joyce climbed in, and, after having seated herself in the straw, took him again in her arms. ’If the cart go over rough stones, it shall joggle me,’ she said; ’I’ll hold’y, maister dear, that you shan’t feel it.’ ’I say, maiden,’ said Farmer Facey, looking over the rail of the waggon as they were about to start, ’when the young gentleman gets better, just tell him he was took home in Farmer Facey’s waggon, with his team and horseman, Farmer Facey, to Coombow. He might like to know, you see, and, being a gentleman, as I take it, he won’t forget.’ Just as the cart was off, he called to the driver, ’Stay a bit, Jim! I think I’ll take a lift, too, as far as to Bridestowe, and I’ll just up and see the Squire. I’ll tell him what has happened to poor Major; and, as it chances, I’ve another horse out of the same mare, I can sell ’n—a tidy sort of a dark roan, you minds ’n, Jim. Mebbe we’ll strike a bargain. I’ll go wi’ you now on the chance.’ At Bridestowe the waggon came to a long halt. Farmer Facey descended; the driver was thirsty. He had much to tell. A crowd gathered round the cart. Daniel, the hostler, climbed up the wheel to look into the face of Herring, and would have mounted the waggon had not Joyce beat him off with Sampson’s whip. ’Sure it be he, poor young man,’ said Daniel. ’I know by token he forgot to chuck me a sixpence last night. ’Tis he as went after the Squire’s horse. How came this about? Do’y say as Major hev a foreleg broke? Well, now, Loramussy! how can that have happened? The young gent may come round, right enough, but the oss—he must be shot. ’Tis a thousand pities.’ ’There be nothing happens but what be good for trade,’ observed Farmer Facey.