Uncle Smallridge made reply. He was now past work, but had walked from his distant cottage for the pleasure of a little conversation with familiars. "'Tis the human nature in 'un that counts," he said. "You'll find as a general thing the best men ban't the easiest to get on with." "Malherb's chock full o' human nature," declared Mr. Woodman. "So full that he bursts wi' it--like a falling thunderbolt, till a man almost calls on the hills to cover him," admitted Putt. "That's because you catched it for idleness," answered Woodman. "Mr. Narcot be like a machine oiled up to the last cog an' going so smooth an' suent that a child may turn the handle; an' maister's like a drashel[*] in clumsy hands--you don't know where 'twill fall next. But give me our man with all his faults an' fire." [*] _Drashel_: A flail. "I'm afraid he'll try you sorely yet," foretold Smallridge, and little guessed how near the ordeal had come. "I'll cleave to him so long as it holds with honesty," said Beer. "What mazes me is this: Mr. Peter never does nothing out of the common, nor never lapses from the level way of man with man, nor says a hard word to a fly; an' yet I doan't neighbour with him; an' t'other, despite his rages and crooked words and terrible rash goings on--as will damn your eyes for a look--why, I'd hold out for him against an army." "'Tis his weakness draws you to him," said Uncle Smallridge. "I know. Us all likes to catch our betters tripping. It levels up the steep gulf that's fixed between master an' man, an' makes us more content with ourselves. You know how extra good t'other children get when one be extra naughty. This here Norcot is above us in his estate, an' that we can forgive, for us can't help it; but we'm never too comfortable or kindly towards them as be much above us in vartues." "For my part, it don't seem natural," said Harvey Woodman. "I don't believe in these great flights of goodness in man or woman. Here and there a parson will stand out like a beacon on a hill, for 'tis his trade; but not them as lives to make money like Peter Norcot. When what shows in a man be so shining, I always ax myself about what don't show." "'Tis your jealous spirit," said Putt. "All the same, I don't care for a man as hides behind hisself like that wool-stapler do. The Devil's got his corner in him, same as he have in every mother's son of us." "He may have cast him out, however," ventured Putt. "Cast him out at five-an'-thirty years of age--an' him a bachelor! No fey." "Well, he ban't bound to belittle hisself before the likes of us," said Putt. "Here he be, anyway," added Beer, for Grace and Peter now approached. She was finishing the tragic history of Childe as she rode beside him.