It was small and pitiful, she knew that, and she shuddered under the sense of being a meaner-hearted girl than she had ever thought. If she could do something of herself to counteract the difference made by Philip's success, if she could raise herself a little, she would be content to keep behind, to let him go first, to see him forge ahead of her, and of everybody, being only in sight and within reach. But she could do nothing except writhe and rebel against the network of female custom, or tear herself in the thorny thicket of female morals. Harvest had begun; half the crop of Glenmooar had been saved, a third was in stook, and then a wet day had come and stopped all work in the fields. On this wet day, in the preaching-room of the mill, amid forms and desks, with the cranch of the stones from below, the wash of the wheel from outside, and the rush of the uncrushed corn from above, Cæsar sat rolling sugganes for the stackyard, with Kate working the twister, and going backward before him, and half his neighbours sheltering from the rain and looking on. “Thought I'd have a sight up and tell you,” said Kelly, the postman. “What's the news, Mr. Kelly?” said Cæsar. “The ould Dempster's dying,” said Kelly. “You don't say?” said everybody. “Well, as good as dying at ten minutes wanting eight o'clock this morning,” said the postman. “The drink's been too heavy for the man,” said John, the clerk. “Wine is a serpent, and strong drink a mocker,” said Cæsar. “Who'll be the new Dempster, Mr. Niplightly,” said Jonaique. “Hm!” snuffled the constable, easing his helmet, “dat's a serious matter, Mr. Jelly. We'll dake our time--well dake our time.” “Chut! There's only one man for it,” said Cæsar. “Perhaps yes, perhaps no,” said the constable. “Do you mane the young Ballawhaine, Mr. Cregeen?” said the postman. “Do I mane fiddlesticks!” said Cæsar. “Well, the man's father is at the Govenar reg'lar, they're telling me,” said Kelly, “and Ross is this, and Ross is that--” “Every dog praises his own tail,” said Cæsar. “I'm not denying it, the man isn't fit--he has sold himself to the devil, that's a fact----” “No, he hasn't,” said Cæsar, “the devil gets the like for nothing.” “But he's a Christian for all, and the Christians have been Dempsters time out of time----” “Is he the only Christian that's in, then, eh?” said Cæsar. “Go on, Kate; twist away.” “Is it Mr. Philip? Aw, I'm saying nothing against Mr. Philip,” said the postman. “You wouldn't get lave in this house, anyway,” said Cæsar. “Aw, a right gentleman and no pride at all,” said the postman. “As free and free with a poor man, and no making aisy either. I've nothing agen him myself. No, but a bit young for a Dempster, isn't he? Just a taste young, as the man said, eh?” “Older than the young Ballawhaine, anyway,” said John, the clerk. “Aw, make him Dempster, then. I'm raising no objection,” said Mr. Kelly.