“No need to have no argyments,” returned the farmer blandly. “Measter Inkpen have a-got his notions, an’ I’ve a-got mine. An’ I’ll tell ye straight out, my bwoys, I’ve got no notion o’ sendin’ out beer to folks what be a-earnin’ good wage an’ can buy for theirselves so much as is good for ’em. A man’s better wi’out it to my mind.” “If that be your notion, Measter, I’m sorry for ye,” shouted Jess, whom the last remark had incensed beyond bounds of caution. “There, ’tis treatin’ your human fellow-creeturs worse nor the beasts of the field. Look at them cows yonder—ye’d never think o’ lettin’ them go dry. Wasn’t we standin’ up to our knees in muck last spring a-cleanin’ the pond for ’em. There’s one a-standin’ in it now a-drinkin’, an’ a-coolin’ his legs. I d’ ’low ’tis enough to make a body envy the dumb brutes.” Farmer Old fixed him with his expressionless gaze. “Well, Jess,” he returned, with a provoking mildness which added fuel to Jess’s wrath. “I b’ain’t a onreasonable man, I hope. I have no objection at all to your goin’ an’ standin’ in the pond to cool your legs and refresh yourself. ’Ees, I’ll allow ye five minutes.” The men’s laughter rang out loudly at this sally; the distant rattle of the hay-rake ceased for a moment as Stuckey drew rein, and turned in his seat in the hope of ascertaining the nature of the joke. But Jess threw his rake from him, and turned upon his master with anger tempered by dignity. “Then I’ll tell ye what it is, sir,” he cried. “Flesh and blood can’t bear it no longer. I be a-goin’ on strike.” Mr Old surveyed him for a moment; then he glanced at Jess’s fellow-workers, just the fraction of a gleam being perceptible in his inscrutable eyes. But Martin and his companions raked away as if their lives depended on the speed with which they accomplished their task. “Oh, ye be goin’ on strike, be ye?” he observed. “Goin’ to strike all by yourself seemingly.” Again he glanced at the gang of rakers, whose efforts became if possible more strenuous than before, and who appeared quite unconscious of what was going on; then he set his legs a little more wide apart and whistled. “Ye want a rise of wages, I suppose?” he continued calmly. Jess considered, and then threw out his hand impressively. There was a certain appearance of tension about the bent backs of the workers. It would be a queer thing if, after all, the master were going to give in to Jess. “No, Measter,” said the latter with a virtuous air. “Ye rose me last year an’ I b’ain’t the man to ax for more now; but a drap o’ beer’s another thing. I be goin’ on strike, Measter Old, till you agree for to send us out a drap o’ refreshment at such times as these.” “I’m glad ye didn’t ax for more wage, Jess,” returned Old, still mildly, “because ye wouldn’t ha’ got it. As for sendin’ out refreshment, as I did tell ye jist now, I’ve got no notion o’ doin’ no sich thing.”