Far away, as evening fell, Mr. Norcot waited with admirable patience for the arrival of Sergeant Bradridge and his prisoner; while Mother Coaker of Westover Farm mourned a good fish wasted. Tom Putt's salmon, despairing of being eaten, had fallen to pieces in the pot. BOOK IV THE PEACE CHAPTER I HOPE WAKES AND DIES On a day in late autumn, while sad winds whispered of winter and the heather blossoms perished, Harvey Woodman and Thomas Putt were setting up hurdles round about a portion of a turnip field. Hard by Uncle Smallridge sat upon a stone, chewed tobacco and watched them. This aged man had made a close study of Providence's work at Fox Tor Farm, and, finding that all the evils resulting from the demolition of Childe's Tomb had fallen upon the head of Malherb, he felt increased respect for the logic of Heaven. Now he approached the labourers fearlessly, discussed the state of affairs with relish, and threw his weight upon the side of justice. But the household of Malherb showed an inclination to think the farmer too hardly treated. According to their measure of intelligence and gratitude, they mourned the master's evil fortune. "He's changed under our living eyes," said Woodman. "A scantle of his old self, an' goes heavily with backward glances as though the wisht-hounds was arter him day an' night," declared Putt. "So meek as Moses now most times. I miss the thunder of him. We'm so used to it that he seems like a new man without his noise." "Not but he flashes up, like a dying fire, now an' again, however," added Woodman. Uncle Smallridge chewed and nodded and uttered complacent platitudes. "What did I say? What a picture of the wrath of the loving God! You won't find in all Scripture no case where the Lord took a matter into His own hands quicker an' polished off a sinner so sharp. First his son cut down; then his darter undutiful; then that tantara to the War Prison; then Lovey Lee carried away by the Devil, as I hopes an' believes; an' then Jack Lee vanished like a cloud; an' a bad wool year; an' wages coming by fits an' starts; an' doom writ upon the man's forehead. 'Tis all the hatched-out egg of the Lord. Full of meat--full of meat are His ways." "Hard enough to stomach all the same," said Woodman; and Putt viewed the ancient with considerable disgust. "You'm worse than Kekewich," he declared. "You fatten on other folks' troubles, like a crow on offal. I'd blush to smack my lips over a brave man's cares. Who gave 'e that tobacco you'm chowing?"