Jess waited till it turned, and then marched round the gate with a determined air, taking off his coat as he advanced, and setting his hat firmly on his head. “Come, sir,” he cried, laying his hand on the reins. “This here job be altogether too much for ye. You get down, an’ let me pop up in your place. I can’t bide to see ye a-makin’ a slave o’ yoursel’ same as that.” “Thank ’ee, Jess, thank ’ee,” responded the farmer, clambering down with great alacrity. “Ees, I’ll not deny I’m gettin’ a bit stiff for this here work. I reckon it ’ud ha’ tried me a bit.” “I can’t forget as I did work for ye for ten year,” observed Jess, eyeing him sharply; he felt it would be the proper thing now for the other to own he was in fault on the previous day. But Mr Old appeared to have no such intention. He handed over the reins with a beaming face, and watched Jess take his vacated seat with evident satisfaction. “I do call it real handsome of ye to lend a hand same as ye be a-doin’,” he said, “Real handsome, but no one do know better nor you that these be busy times.” Jess’s countenance assumed a dubious, not to say depressed, expression, as he set the mowing-machine in motion; what did the master mean? Surely he could not think Jess such a fool as to lend a hand out of mere neighbourliness? His doubts increased when at dinner-time the farmer renewed his expressions of gratitude; something very like a twinkle appearing the while in his habitually expressionless eyes. “I’ll not expect ye to come back this afternoon,” he observed. “Ye’ll have lots o’ little jobs to do at home. Nay now, a favour’s a favour, an’ I’d never be one for to ax too much.” Jess stared hard, scratching his jaw, and the other resumed. “I’ve a-heerd o’ folks going on strike before, but I will say I did never hear of a man what acted so goodnatured. There, most strikers do look on the masters as they’ve a-left, as regular enemies. ’Tisn’t many as ’ud offer to do a good turn on a busy day same as you be a-doin’. Your missus did ought to allow ye a glass o’ beer to-day,” continued the farmer handsomely. “I’m sure ye do deserve it.” “Well, I’m dalled,” growled Jess, under his breath, however, for he had sufficient self-respect to accept the situation. He walked away with as jaunty an air as he could assume, and the farmer stood watching him for a moment or two, shaking with silent laughter. Jess passed a very dismal Sunday. His friends looked at him askance, for his conduct had occasioned much talk, and he was regarded in that little community in the light of a dangerous firebrand. His missus lost no opportunity of impressing upon him her views of his recent action; Farmer Old passed him with a smile which he could not but think savoured of malicious triumph, and Martin Fry, whom he chanced to encounter on his way from church, delivered it as his opinion that he had made a sammy of himself.