Of that doughty company was old Squire Harris, lord of the manor and owner, though not master, of thousands of broad rebellious acres; master, on the other hand, of the hearts of men and women who owed him no allegiance governed by the purse; a man of whom Mawm was proud, and whose kindliness and justice earned him the respect even of evildoers. Heavy of body and light of heart he sat his horse on this cold February morning, paying no heed to the stinging attentions of the wind, but with an observant eye on the work that was going on in the yard of the home farm. “A good lad at his job, Yorke,” he said approvingly to the steward who was standing at the stirrup; “Jagger always framed well from being a lad; and Briggs has been a fool to part with him. Did you say his father was about?” “He left not ten minutes ago,” replied the steward. “You’ll overtake him if you’re going towards the village.” The squire nodded and moved away. Five minutes later he caught sight of Maniwel’s sturdy figure and cantered up to his side. “Well, Drake!” he said heartily as he checked his horse’s pace; “your head would make the fortune of one of these new-fangled painters, for it’s a study in bright colours—blue ears and pink cheeks!” “A Happy New Year to you, Mr. Harris—what’s left of it!” returned the other. “It’s better to be blue outside than inside, anyway; and after all it’s a bit o’ real Yorkshire, is this wind; and what more can a man want i’ February?” “Right you are, Drake! A man who wants ought better wants a thrashing for his greediness, eh? You and I drink life in with every breath, don’t we? Beats all your orange-scented breezes into a cocked hat. A Happy New Year to you, too, my friend, and prosperous! How are things looking?” “Neither pink nor blue,” answered Maniwel with a twinkle in his eye, “thank you kindly for asking. Some days they’re drab wi’ a bit o’ blue in; and other some they’re drab wi’ a bit o’ pink.” “But never black, I hope,” inquired Mr. Harris. “I’m colour blind to black,” answered Maniwel, “when it gets as far as a blue-drab I stir t’ fire up. There’s always something cheerful there.” The squire looked down at the honest face admiringly. “And what about these rumours that are flying round that you’re not being treated fairly?” he asked. “Is there anything in them? Can I put in a word usefully anywhere?” “No, sir,” said the other firmly, “though it’s like you to name it. What you’ve heard, I don’t know, but when tales begin to fly about they pick up more than they started with, and I dare bet I’ve naught to put up with i’ business no worse than what you’ve had i’ politics.” “Perhaps not,” returned Mr. Harris with a laugh; “but if some of these stories are true, or only partly true, they’re beyond what’s fair and I shouldn’t hesitate to tell the parties so. However, I admire your grit, and you shall have what I can put in your way, I promise you. I’ve told Mr. Yorke so.”