The recital had a conflicting effect on Eli. To him Ortho’s story was as breath-taking as that of some swart mariner returned from fabulous spice islands and steamy Indian seas—but at the same time he was perturbed. Was it likely that his brother, having seen the great world and all its wonders, would be content to settle down to the humdrum life at Bosula and dour struggle with the wilderness? Most improbable. Ortho would go adventuring again and he and Bohenna would have to face the problem alone. Bohenna was not getting any younger. His rosy hopes clouded over. He must try to get Ortho to see the danger. After all Bosula would come to Ortho some day; it was his affair. He began forthwith, pointed out the weedy state of the fields, the littered windfalls, the invasion of the moor. To his surprise Ortho was immediately interested—and indignant. “What had that lazy lubber Bohenna been up to? . . . And Davy? By Gad, it was a shame! He’d let ’em know. . . .” Eli explained that Davy had been turned off and Bohenna was doing his best. “In father’s time there were three of ’em here and it was all they could manage, working like bullocks,” said he, quoting Penaluna. “Then why haven’t we three men now?” “Mother says we’ve got no money to hire ’em.” Ortho’s jaw dropped. “No money! _We?_ . . . Good God! Where’s it all gone to?” Eli didn’t know, but he did know that if some one didn’t get busy soon they’d have no farm left. “It’s been going back ever since father died,” he added. Ortho strode up and down, black-browed, biting his lip. Then he suddenly laughed. “Hell’s bells,” he cried. “What are we fretting about? There are three of us still, ain’t there? . . . You, me ’n Ned. I warrant we’re a match for a passel of old brambles, heh? I warrant we are.” Eli was amazed and delighted. Did Ortho really mean what he said? “Then—then you’re not going gypsying again?” he asked. Ortho spat. “My Lord, no—done with that. It’s a dog’s life, kicked from common to heath, living on hedge-hogs, sleeping under bushes, never dry—mind you, I enjoyed it all—but I’ve had all I want. No, boy”—once more he hugged his brother to him—“I’m going to stop home long o’ thee—us’ll make our old place the best in the Hundred—in the Duchy—and be big rosy yeomen full of good beef and cider. . . . Eh, look at that!”