Lanty came back to business haunted by the smile and an irritating conviction that he had somehow made a fool of himself. They stayed with him all morning, marring his real contentment; for it was pleasant to have no difficult points to tackle after the good year. Not that the tenants were at pains to emphasise the luck. On the contrary, scarcely one of them would own to any special favouring of Providence. Hay might have done well, but it had been slow weather, if fine, and that meant labour at an exorbitant wage. “Why, a man could bare lig his head on t’pillow fur thinkin’ he sud be out an’ about, puttin’ the wark through!” Harvest might have been fair to middlin’, “Ay, but look at t’last two crops! What, we’ve not pulled up on _that_ lot, yet! It’s one year wi’ another i’ farmin’, an’ like as not t’bad year’s t’yan as gits t’job! ’Tisn’t as if crops was all, neyther. Stock’s gey ticklish stuff to manish, breet as a button ya minnit, an’ deein’ off like flees t’next. Why, t’whole countryside knaas what luck I’ve had wi’ my coves!” And then would follow the usual wheedling demand for midden-steads, lime, shippon-repairs in their degree, or anything else that “Mr. Lancaster, sir” looked good for. It was all part of the game, and there was little goodwill going missing as they came and went in the wintry sun. What bitter struggle the past could show, what grinding fear the future might hold, were alike forgotten as they stood about in little groups, weather-beaten faces and ageing backs, ready to enjoy their pillgill now that the pang of “parting” was over; for though the Westmorland farmer must have a grievance even at the wonder-point of prosperity, he must also, on the very verge of ruin, crack his joke. Brack’s beautiful entry in the S.-F.--an elaborate =S= bend round his Uncle Holliday and old Simon Farrer, violently exchanging views in the middle of the road--was spoilt by a large mangold at the end of a rope, attached to his back axle by Denny, somewhere _en route_. The mangold, not being accomplished in =S= bends, knocked Simon’s feet from under him and caught Uncle Willie on the knee; and while they were busy asking Brack what he meant by it, Denny himself ramped in with his high-stepper and the expression of a lily-white hen. Taken altogether, it was a gay enough morning but for one solitary episode, when Wolf came in for the last time as tenant of Ninekyrkes. The little interview was one of those that Fate stamps with a fiery thumb. He drove in alone, acknowledging no greeting, and, when some one came forward to take his horse, climbing down without a word. It seemed a long time before he came out of the Bank, and when at last he crossed the road it was with bitter reluctance, his head bent, ignoring salutation and outstretched hand.