But Harry stuck doggedly to his idea— “I mun try, Tom—and I’ll never git the plaace sold up, fur we’re spending naun extra save fur the seed and a bit of manure. I go unaccountable wary, and do most of the wark myself, wud faather to help me on his good days, and Juglery and Elphick stuck on jobs as they can’t do no harm at. It’ll do Worge naun but good in the end—wheat’s at eighty shilling a quarter, and guaranteed—and anyhow, I tell you, I mun try.” Tom was impressed. “Well, Harry, I woan’t say you aun’t a good lad. But it maakes me unaccountable narvous. Here have I bin toiling and sweating this five year jest to kip the farm together, and now you go busting out all round and saying it ull win the War. Wot if we chaps out there doan’t win, t’aun’t likely as you will. Howsumdever....” 9 Tom’s marriage was on the Thursday of Easter week. All the morning a soft teeming fog lay over the fields, drawing out scents of growth and warmth and life. Worge lay in the midst of it like the ghost of a farm, a dim grey shadow on the whiteness, and the voices of her men came muffled, as in dreams. Towards noon the sunshine had begun to eat away the mist—it grew yellower, streakier, and at last began to scatter, rolling up the fields in solemn clouds, balling and pilling itself against the hedges, melting into the April green of the woods; and then suddenly it was gone—sucked up into the sky, sucked down into the earth, living only in a few drops in the cups of violets. The Bethel stared away across the fields to Puddledock. For some time its roof, with the chipped Georgian pediment, had risen above the mist. Then the grim windows had come out to stare, and then the tombstones that grew round its feet, leaning and tottering among the chapel weed. Tom and Thyrza were to be married at the Bethel. This had caused some surprise in the neighbourhood, as the Beatups had always been “Church”; but friendship and convenience had led to the decision—friendship for the Reverend Mr. Sumption, because Tom knew him better than Mr. Poullett-Smith, and was sorry for him on account of Jerry, convenience because the chapel was close at hand, and the makers of the wedding breakfast would have time to run across and witness the ceremony, which they could not have done had it taken place at Brownbread Street, two miles away.