“I had something to drink in the house—this is yours,” and she watched him drink with an eager sweetness and humility in her eyes. 14 For the next two or three days the work went well. The Volunteer Field was reaped, and then the Street Field; the Sunk and Forges must be tackled before the fine weather came to an end, but the low grounds by Bucksteep might be left to stand a little, being sheltered, and not quite ready for harvest. Harry’s mixed gang of helpers was a bigger success than he had dared hope. Mr. Sumption was even better the second day than the first, having worked down a stiffness which his big muscles had acquired from long disuse. Even Mrs. Beatup was impressed, and gave him a fine breakfast every morning. The other clergyman was not so useful, but he made up in effort what he lacked in achievement, and by Friday was doing quite a creditable day’s work. Nell was not, of course, much good, still, she was better than nothing, and more energetic and good-humoured than Harry had ever seen her. Zacky and the hired boy conspired in laziness and evil-doing, and Harry was grateful when the Rev. Mr. Sumption took it upon himself to knock their heads together. On Friday evening grey smears of cloud lay on a strange whiteness in the west, and on Saturday the whole sky was smudged over with a pale opacity, and the wind blew from the South. The labourers found relief from the stewing, chaffy stillness of the last few days; but Harry snuffed the air and looked wise. “The weather’s breaking up,” he said to his father in the dinner-hour. “We’ll have to work on Sunday.” “Wud two passons!” cried Mus’ Beatup. “They’ll never coame. They’ll be preaching tales about dead men.” “Reckon we must do wudout them. We durn’t leave the Sunk Field till after the weather. Bucksteep can wait, surelye, but the Sunk must be reaped before the rain.” Mus’ Beatup groaned—“That’s the wust of doing aught wud passons. ’Tis naun to them if it rains on Monday—all they care is that a dunnamany hunderd years agone it rained forty days and forty nights and drownded all the world saave Noah and his beasts. Bah!” and Mus’ Beatup spat into the hedge. However, to their surprise, they found both the parsons ready to work on Sunday. Mr. Poullett-Smith had no less authority than the Archbishop of Canterbury—the Archbishop quoted Christ’s saying of the ox in the pit, and gave like indulgence to all Churchmen. The Rev. Mr. Sumption appeared with no such sanctions. “I’ve got no Randall Cantuar or Charles John Chichester to tell me I may break the Lord’s commandments. Reckon the Assembly ull be against me in this, and the Lord Himself ull be against me; but I’ll risk it. For you’re a good lad, Harry Beatup, and I’m going to stand by you, and if the Lord visits it on me I must bow to His will.”