"I war thinking o’ th’ bloody fight i’ th’ kirkyard. No more nor a two-week back it war, Hiram, an’ here we all are, cooking an’ weshing an’ churning i’ th’ owd way, when we’d looked for fearsome doings all up an’ down th’ moorside." "A wench would look for ’em; but I could hev telled thee different if tha’d axed me," said Hiram complacently. "Look at yond puffs o’ dust that come ivery two-three minutes over th’ furrows—dost think even Shameless Wayne could let a seed-time sich as this go by, while he war agate wi’ fighting? Nay, nor th’ Ratcliffes nawther. We mun all live by th’ land, gentle an’ simple, an’ afore awther Wayne or Ratcliffes can afford to marlake, they’ll hev to addle belly-timber." "There’ll nowt o’ more come on ’t then? Th’ Lean Man has been fearful quiet of late, an’ there’s them as thinks th’ fight i’ th’ graveyard has daunted him for good an’ all." "Daunted him, has it?" rejoined Hiram grimly. "Thee bide till th’ oats is sown, an’ th’ hay won in, an’ then tha’ll see summat. Th’ Lean Man is quiet like, tha says? Well, I’ve known him quiet afore, an’ I’ve known him busy—an’ of th’ two I’d liefer see him thrang." "Tha’r a good un to flair folk, Hiram! Why would’st liefer see him thrang?" "Why? Because when a Ratcliffe says nowt to nobody, but wends abroad wi’ a smug face an’ watchful een, same as I’ve seen ’em do lately, ye may be varry sure he’s fashioning slier devil’s tricks nor iver.—Red Ratcliffe met thee just now, did he, Martha?" "I telled thee as mich—he warn’t so slow as some folk, Hiram, for he’d no sooner clapped een on me nor he had an arm about my waist." Again Hiram wavered, and again whispered caution to himself. "He showed some mak o’ sense there, Martha—but that’s not what I war axing thee. What war he doing, like, when tha first comed up wi’ him?" "Nowt, nobbut mooning up an’ down, as if i’ search o’ somebody." "Well, he war on Wayne land to start wi’, an’ that wears a queerish look." "Sakes, young Maister is nowhere near, I’m hoping!" cried Martha. "Red Ratcliffe carried his pistols, an’ a shot from behind a wall wod suit him better nor a stand-up fight." She still had her back to the ploughed field, and Hiram smiled in sour fashion to think how very near the master was, and what company he was keeping at the moment. "Thou’rt fearful jealous for th’ young Maister," he said. "I’m thinking there’s truth i’ what they say i’ Marshcotes—that Shameless Wayne allus gets th’ soft side of a maid." "An’ should do, seeing he’s what he is!" "Well, I wodn’t be a bit surprised if he _war_ i’ th’ fields this morn. He’s farmed for a week, hes th’ Maister, an’ he knows so mich about it now that he mun be here, theer an’ iverywhere, watching that us younger hands do matters right."