“I d’ ’low it do do I good,” returned Old. “There, a man do never know how much he can do till he tries. I’stead o’ findin’ myself a man shart, I’m reg’lar vexed to think how long I’ve a-kept a man too many.” Jess echoed his laugh in a half-hearted way, and then, finding Mr Old’s jocular humour a trifle trying, strolled on towards the farmhouse proper. Here all was cheerful bustle. Jenny Old was hanging out a basketful of linen on the clothes-line which reached from the corner of the house to the gnarled apple-tree; Polly, who was not so strong as her sister, was sitting in the sunshine with a pile of garments in need of mending; young Bill Hopkins was staggering across the yard carrying a huge bucket of pig-wash. At the sight Jess’s interest quickened, and at the same time he was conscious of a spasm of active jealousy. It had been his office to attend to the pigs, and he had ever taken pride and pleasure in every detail connected with his charges, from the moment when they first ran squeaking about the yard till they became bacon. “Be the new litter come yet?” he enquired in as casual a tone as he could assume. “Lard, yes! Never see’d a finer lot—eleven they be wi’out countin’ the littlest what did die last night. But ’twarn’t worth rearing anyway.” “I’d ha’ reared it though,” said Jess. “What be bringin’ the sow?” “Oh, he be gettin’ on nicely. He’ll do all right on the usual stuff.” “He did ought to have a meal drink,” said Jess firmly. “Haw, haw! You be terr’ble free wi’ your drinks!” said Bill, slyly. Polly Old tittered at the sally, and Jenny, catching the sound of mirth, uplifted her shrill voice to enquire the cause. Bill repeated the joke with a guffaw so loud that it brought out Mrs Old from the house, with soapy hands and an enquiring face. She too laughed on hearing of Bill’s jest. “Ah, ye may all laugh,” cried Jess passionately. “But it b’ain’t no laughin’ matter to I. Ye think ye may cheek me now, Bill Hopkins, because I be down in the world, but I tell ’ee, Mrs Old, if I did sp’ake a word about the sow ’tis because I—I—well there! I don’t like to see the poor beast punished for want o’ proper care.” Mrs Old stopped laughing. “Ye was always a careful man, an’ very knowledgeable about pigs,” she observed, thoughtfully. Jess, encouraged by these words of commendation, proceeded to lay down certain rules of diet appropriate to lady pigs, and Mrs Old listened in silence, nodding now and then. At the conclusion of his harangue she ordered Bill sharply to go back for the barley-meal, and desired her daughters to give over gigglin’ and glenin’ and get on wi’ their work; then, meditatively wiping her hands on her apron, she strolled towards Domeny. “’Tis a pity, Jess, ye don’t have so much sense for yourself as ye do have for the dumb beasts. B’ain’t ye tired o’ bein’ on strike?” Jess looked round him cautiously, and then back at her shrewd, kindly face.