"Who says he'll bate it with a yoke of oxen?" he asked. "That's just what I'm afther saying, my fine fellow. Have you anything agen it?" In half a minute a wager had been laid of a pound a side that Dan, with a pair of oxen, would beat the stranger with a pair of horses in two stretches out of three. "Davy! Davy!" shouted Dan, and in a twinkling there was Davy Fayle, looking queer enough in his guernsey, and his long boots, and his sea-cap, and withal his belt and his dagger. Davy was sent for a pair of oxen to where they were leading manure, not far away. He went off like a shot, and in ten minutes he was back in the meadow, driving the oxen before him. Now, these oxen had been a gift of the Bishop to Dan. They were old, and had grown wise with their years. For fifteen years they had worked on the glebe at Bishop's Court, and they knew the dinner hour as well as if they could have taken the altitude of the sun. When the dinner bell rang at the Court at twelve o'clock, the oxen would stop short, no matter where they were or what they were doing, and not another budge would they make until they had been unyoked and led off for their midday mash. It was now only a few minutes short of twelve, but no one took note of that circumstance, and the oxen were yoked to a plow. "Same judge and jury," said the stranger, but Ewan excused himself. "Aw, what matter about a judge," said Dan, from his plow-handles; "let the jury be judge as well." Ewan and Mona looked on in silence for some moments. Ewan could scarce contain himself. There was Dan, stripped to his red flannel shirt, his face tanned and glowing, his whole body radiant with fresh life and health, and he was shouting and laughing as if there had never been a shadow to darken his days. "Look at him," whispered Ewan, with emotion, in Mona's ear. "Look! this good-nature that seems so good to others is almost enough to make me hate him." Mona was startled, and turned to glance into Ewan's face. "Come, let us go," said Ewan, with head aside. "Not yet," said Mona. Then Jarvis Kerruish, who had stepped aside for a moment, returned and said: "Will you take a wager with me, Mona--a pair of gloves?" "Very well," she answered. "Who do you bet on?" "Oh, on the stranger," said Mona, coloring slightly, and laughing a little. "How lucky," said Jarvis, "I bet on the captain." "I can stand it no longer," whispered Ewan, "will you come?" But Mona's eyes were riveted on the group about the oxen. She did not hear, and Ewan turned away, and walked out of the meadow. Then there was a shout, and the oxen started with Dan behind them. On they went through the hard, tough ground, tranquilly, steadily, with measured pace, tearing through roots of trees that lay in their way as if nothing could stop them in their great strength. When the oxen got back after the first stretch the time was called--five minutes thirty seconds--and there was a great cheer, and Mona's pale face was triumphant.