“Well, then,” cried Abel, thumping the gate too with his lean old hand, “I will starve, farmer. I don’t care so much if I do starve; livin’s weary work—the sooner I be done with it the better.” “Shepherd, shepherd,” expostulated Farmer Joyce in real distress and perplexity, “this be fool’s talk—this be nothin’ but stubbornness. I’ll not take such an answer.” “Ye may take it,” retorted Robbins, thumping the gate again, “for ye’ll not get no other.” “Well, I be sorry, Abel; I be very sorry—I—I be terrible sorry. You’ve sarved me faithful, Abel.” “Ay, master, I do ’low I’ve sarved ’ee too faithful,” returned Robbins. He betook himself to his pitchfork again, and all his master’s remonstrances failed to extract another word. Sorely perturbed in mind Joyce withdrew at last, and made his way homewards. Throwing down his hat on the kitchen table he informed his wife of the result of the interview. “I could a’most wish as we hadn’t ha’ said nothin’ about it to the old chap. He won’t last long—an’ I might ha’ made shift to help him a bit.” “That be real nonsense,” returned his better half. “’Twould be a pretty notion for the master to be a-workin’ for the man. Let him go if he’s set on’t—he’ll repent it.” She set a dish on the table with somewhat unnecessary energy, and her husband held his peace for a moment or two. By-and-bye, however, he put into words that which was in the minds of both. “We’ll be like to repent it, too. Abel be wonderful handy about the place. ’Tis but his j’ints as is straggled. He be no Sammy, shepherd bain’t; his head’s wise enough yet if his body be tewly.” “I do ’low ye didn’t take him the right way,” said Mrs. Joyce, looking at her husband with severe disapproval. “Men-folk be all alike, they’ve no notion o’ things. I’ll lay a shillin’ ye took en rough like—told en he weren’t good for nothin’, an’ vexed en so that he were fair dathered. Leave en to me, I’ll talk to en a bit, an’ see what I can make of en.” Then she banged another plate upon the table and added somewhat inconsequently, “I’ve no patience with en—nor you neither”. Later in the day she was standing, knitting in hand, watching a brood of very young chickens which had made their appearance at an astonishingly early date. Despite this fact they were hardy, healthy little things, and Mrs. Joyce smiled as she watched them running in and out from under their mother, picking up the meal she threw them with great alertness and enjoyment.