“Then he’d start fair again for yond up-hill climb. Do the like wi’ your netting, misters? Cut ’un off, says Billy, where he begins to go up-hill--cut ’un off as clean as a whistle, and start him fair again.” David’s practical mind grasped at once that this was the right solution of the difficulty, and he laughed nearly as loud as Yeoman Hirst. “Seems there’s only one wise man in Garth! To think of us, Farmer, fuming and fretting, and wasting our time; and Billy strolls up, and looks about him, and sets us straight in a minute. How d’ye do it, Billy, lad?” “Nay, I do naught. I’d be feared to, David! A fearsome thing ’twould be if I’d to work like other-some of ye.” Like a great general Billy stood by, and watched the progress of the work, when the four men set about their task again. His advice proved sound, and the netting began to climb the hill in an orderly, straight line. As they worked--the sun lying now, a ball of softened fire, upon the edge of Sharprise Hill--the gate of the croft was opened again, impatiently this time, and Reuben Gaunt came through on horseback. Billy had seen and heard him long before the others had; but he was the only one who did not turn his head about as Gaunt approached. “Good day, Mr. Hirst,” said Reuben, not pleased to find David and Billy here, yet striving to cover up his uneasiness. “Good day, Mr. Gaunt,” answered Hirst, his face grown hard as a bit of limestone grit. “I’ll thank ye to close that gate behind ye.” “Why? There are no beasts in the croft.” “I’m not here to argufy. When you find a gate shut, shut it behind ye--that’s what I was taught as a lad.” It had been a day of insults for Gaunt, and he longed to snap some hasty answer out and ride away; but his errand robbed him of this slight consolation, and he made the best of an awkward matter. “Billy, just run and shut that gate,” he said. The natural turned at last, puffing gently at his pipe. “Would oblige ye, I, but ’tis one o’ my playtime-days, Mr. Reuben Gaunt. I’d have bad dreams to-night if I did any work.” One of Hirst’s men ran to shut the gate, and Reuben looked the farmer in the eyes. “I want a word with you.” “Say it here, then, for I’m throng with work, and this job has to be finished off to-night.” “It can’t be said here. ’Tis a matter of private business, Mr. Hirst.” “Well, I can spare ten minutes. David, see that these idle rogues get forrard wi’ their work,” he added, nodding toward his farm-men as he moved off. Gaunt dismounted and slipped the bridle through his arm, and the two were half across the croft before Billy found speech. “Is yond turkey-cock o’ yours abroad yet, Farmer, as a body’s body might say?” he called. “Ay,” answered Hirst, without turning his head. “Well, pen the devil up, says Fool Billy. Pen ’un up, Farmer!”