Presently the scraping back of benches denoted that the meal was at an end, and soon the sound of retreating voices announced that the tired folk had withdrawn to their beds in attic or outhouse. Then Jean Marie heard Molly speaking in a low muffled tone, which somehow conveyed to him the impression that she was bending over her father; and then a bellow from the old man made the prisoner spring backwards from the door. “A Frenchy in my house! What the—the—” “Eh, father, just think if it were our Teddy as had got loose from prison over yon, and wanted a helpin’ hand.” “Our lad’s noan sich a fool as to get put in prison.” “Nay, but he might; and the Lord might do the same to us as we do to yon poor chap.” “Don’t tell me, ye silly wench, as the Lord ’ud go for to treat a good honest Englishman same as a fool of a Frenchy.” “He looks just like an Englishman, father, and he speaks English much the same as we do. He seems as nice as could be, and that handy going about the kitchen.” “Sir,” called out Jean Marie from the place of his concealment, his voice sounding thin and strange through the keyhole; “Sir, I could help with the reaping; you said you wanted another pair of hands.” “What’s that?” cried Farmer Joe, and then he fell a-laughing. “Why, there’s sense in what the chap says—I’m terribly short-handed just now. Come out, sin’ thou’rt theer, and let’s have a look at thee.” The door being unlocked, Jean emerged from the buttery, and stepped lightly across the floor on his bare feet. Taking up his position opposite old Rainford, he first extended for inspection a pair of powerful hands, and then, pulling up his ragged shirt-sleeves, displayed the magnificent muscles of his arms. “Will that do?” he enquired quaintly. The farmer slapped him on the back, with a roar of laughter. “That’ll do, my lad; that’ll do,” he cried. “Od’s bobs, they arms ’ud do credit to an Englishman! Coom, we’s see how mich work thou can get through to-morrow. How long dost thou want to bide here?” “Till the end of the week, if I may.” “Ah, that’ll do well enough; we’s have finished field by then. How wilt thou get away, think’st thou?” “A friend of mine will meet me a little further down the coast in a fishing-boat. You see, I am trusting you, sir. I am sure you will keep my secret.” “You may be sure, lad. I’m not the mon to betray yo’.” “I’ve been thinkin’,” put in Molly, “we must lend Mester John some o’ our Ted’s cloo’es, and a pair o’ clogs, and we must tell folks—I think we’d best tell folks as he’s a friend o’ yours as has coom to help wi’ the harvest.” This plan was put into execution. To the work-people it seemed natural enough that “Mester” had called in additional help in the emergency, and the intimate terms on which the new comer seemed to be with the daughter of the house lent credit to the supposition.