He walked along with the free and easy step which Bertha so much admired, glancing now and then at the fields which bordered the highway. He stopped to examine the beans of a rival farmer. “That soil’s no good,” he said, shaking his head. “It don’t pay to grow beans on a patch like that.” When he arrived at Bewlie’s Farm, Edward called for the labourer in charge of the invalid. “Well, how’s she going?” “She ain’t no better, squire.” “Bad job.... Has Thompson been to see her to-day?” Thompson was the vet. “‘E can’t make nothin’ of it--’e thinks it’s a habscess she’s got, but I don’t put much faith in Mister Thompson: ’is father was a labourer same as me, only ’e didn’t ’ave to do with farming, bein’ a bricklayer; and wot ’is son can know about cattle is beyond me altogether.” “Well, let’s go and look at her,” said Edward. He strode over to the barn, followed by the labourer. The beast was standing in one corner, even more meditative than is usual with cows, hanging her head and humping her back. She seemed profoundly pessimistic. “I should have thought Thompson could do something,” said Edward. “‘E says the butcher’s the only thing for ’er,” said the other, with great contempt. Edward snorted indignantly. “Butcher indeed! I’d like to butcher him if I got the chance.” He went into the farmhouse, which for years had been his home; but he was a practical, sensible fellow and it brought him no memories, no particular emotion. “Well, Mrs. Jones,” he said to the tenant’s wife. “How’s yourself?” “Middlin’, sir. And ’ow are you and Mrs. Craddock?” “I’m all right--the Missus is having a baby, you know.” He spoke in the jovial, careless way which necessarily endeared him to the whole world. “Bless my soul, is she indeed, sir--and I knew you when you was a boy! When d’you expect it?” “I expect it every minute. Why, for all I know, I may be a happy father when I get back to tea.” “You take it pretty cool, governor,” said Farmer Jones, who had known Edward in the days of his poverty. “Me?” cried Edward, laughing. “I know all about this sort of thing, you see. Why, look at all the calves I’ve had--and mind you, I’ve not had an accident with a cow above twice, all the time I’ve gone in for breeding.... But I’d better be going to see how the Missus is getting on. Good afternoon to you, Mrs. Jones.” “Now what I like about the squire,” said Mrs. Jones, “is that there’s no ‘aughtiness in ’im. ’E ain’t too proud to take a cup of tea with you, although ’e is the squire now.” “‘E’s the best squire we’ve ’ad for thirty years,” said Farmer Jones, “and, as you say, my dear, there’s not a drop of ’aughtiness in ‘im--which is more than you can say for his missus.” “Oh well, she’s young-like,” replied his wife. “They do say as ’ow ’e’s the master, and I dare say ’e’ll teach ’er better.” “Trust ’im for makin’ ’is wife buckle under; ’e’s not a man to stand nonsense from anybody.”