He had received the communication and all his father’s comments in absolute silence and now that he spoke his voice was hard and resolute. “You’ll have heard, maybe, that ’Zekiel’s little lad died this afternoon. They came down soon after you went across to Albert’s, and I went back with ’em. They want to bury on Wednesday, so I’ll stay up and be getting on with the job.” “I’ll bide wi’ you, lad,” said the father. “I’ve done naught this last three days”; but Jagger shook his head. “Nay, get you to bed. I shall lose no sleep and you would. I’ve got something else to coffin beside Billy.” “Well, happen you’ll be better by yourself. But when you’ve nailed your trouble up, lad, put it out o’ sight, and don’t let its ghost walk about wi’ you. There’s two ways of dealing wi’ trouble—you can either lie down and let it crush t’ sperrit out of you, or you can climb on t’ top of it and get an uplift.” Jagger looked steadily into his father’s eyes. “That’s so,” he said firmly. “I’ve got to put my back into this business now and make it move, and, by gen, I will.” CHAPTER XI IN WHICH THE CONDITIONS ARE WINTRY WINTER tightened its grip on the moor when the New Year came in. The weather-wise knew it would be so, when night after night a deep halo of gold and brown circled the moon, and the farmers gathered their sheep together lest they should be lost in the drifts with which long experience had made them familiar. January passed, however, and their expectations were not realised; but the long bent grass curved beneath the weight of its frosted jewels; and the surface of the moor and the shelving sides of the hills were so silvered that scarcely a hint of green was given over the whole extent. The waters of the tarn were frozen, inches thick, and the ruts in the road were hard as chiselled masonry. Overhead the sky was faintly blue, and the sun pursued his daily course from Cawden to Fountains’ Fell, shawled in mist, like an age-worn and enfeebled pilgrim who will do his duty while he has strength to move at all, but who has no warmth to spare for those who travel in his company. If the sun was sluggish and ineffective no such fault could be found with the winds that whistled over the moors and in the chimneys of farm and cottage, for they were strong as wild horses, and biting as fine hail. Woe to the ears that were exposed to the full force of the blast upon the uplands, for they were seared as with hot irons! Yet who that was healthy and stout of heart; who that was moorland born, and was, with the ling and the cotton-grass part and parcel of the moor but felt his pulse beat to a quicker and more joyous rhythm as he fought the wind or leaned his back against it!