Considering the strain of the recent struggle, the uncommon heat of the day, the abnormal thirst from which he was suffering, and the fact that he would shortly be called upon to face his wold ’ooman, it is not surprising that he should have turned into the “Three Choughs” before proceeding on his homeward way. At the last-named hostelry he recovered some portion of the valour which had possessed him in the field, and which had been damped by the attitude of the farmer and his men, and indeed felt himself to be a hero. Ten minutes’ conversation with the missus, however, sufficed to disabuse him of this idea, and he went to bed in a puzzled and chastened frame of mind. Mrs Domeny had impounded the remainder of his already curtailed wage. She had also asked certain questions which Jess found it difficult to answer, such as who did he suppose would give him work now? what would become of her and the children? how were they to meet the rent if he were to be long out of work? each query being coupled with the persistent refrain, wasn’t he ashamed of himself? With the dawn, however, fresh courage came. He had done what was only right in the interests of himself and of his colleagues, and must surely triumph in the end. The threatened thunderstorm had blown over, but nevertheless it was a busy and critical time for farmers. Mr Old would no doubt be glad enough to come to terms now, that he, too, had had a night to sleep on the matter. They would be cutting the Twenty Acre to-day—the grass was almost over ripe and there was Sunday coming—Mr Old might possibly invite Jess to come back, and might even render the reconciliation more enduring by making the required concession. “What’s a drap o’ beer to sich as he?” murmured Jess, as he hastily donned his garments; he himself knew how much it meant to him. If Farmer Old did not come round there would be no beer for Jess for a considerable time. He arrived at the Twenty Acre a little before the usual time of starting work, but found to his surprise that the two mowing-machines had already begun operations. Farmer Old himself was driving the one which usually fell to Jess’s share. Jess stood leaning across the gate with a pleasant smile on his face until the last-named machine drew near him. “Marnin’, sir,” he remarked, hailing the farmer in a genial tone. “You do seem to be early at work.” “We be a bit shart-handed, ye see,” responded Mr Old, with a grin which displayed his remaining teeth. This was the opportunity Jess had hoped for; he grinned back expectantly. “It do seem a shame to see ye sittin’ up there, Farmer. It must be a good few year since you drove a mower.” “Ees,” agreed Mr Old. “’Tis a good few year now. ’Tis a nice change.” He flicked at the off horse’s ear as he spoke, and the machine went rattling up the field again.