The Revellers

by Louis Tracy

  CHAPTER XVIII

  THE SEVEN FULL YEARS

  But Martin was not dead, nor even seriously injured. At first, theaffair looked so ugly--its main features were so incomprehensible--thatMr. Herbert was startled into somewhat panic-stricken action. Here wasMartin lying unconscious on the ground, with Elsie kneeling by his side,passionately beseeching him in one breath to speak to her, and in thenext accusing Angele Saumarez of murder.

  The vicar was not blameworthy, in that he failed to grasp either thenature of the accusation or its seeming unreasonableness.

  The single rope of the gymnastic swing erected in the garden for Elsie'sbenefit had been cut deliberately with a sharp knife a few inches abovethe small bar on which the user's weight was supported by both hands. Ofthe cutting there could be no manner of doubt. The jagged edges of thefew strands left by a devilish ingenuity--so that the swing must need bein violent motion before the rope snapped--were clearly visible at thepoint of severance. But who had done this thing, and with what deadlyobject in view? And why did Elsie pitch on Angele Saumarez so readily,glaring at her with such eyes of vengeance that the vicar wasconstrained to order, with the utmost sternness of which he wascapable, that the torrent of words should cease. Indeed, he dispatchedher to acquaint the Bollands with tidings of the disaster as a haphazardpretext to get her out of the way. Apart from sensing the accident'sinexplicable motive, its history was simple enough.

  Before tea was served, Martin and Elsie were using the swingalternately, vying with each other in the effort to touch with theirtoes the leaves of a tree nearly twenty feet distant from the verticalline of the rope. Angele, of course, took no part in this contest; shecontented herself with a sarcastic incredulity when Elsie vowed that shehad accomplished the feat twice already.

  Martin, stronger, but less skilled in the trick of the swing than thegirl, strove hard to excel her. Yet he, too, fell short by a few inchestime after time. At last, Elsie vowed that when she was rested after teashe would prove her words, and threw a pebble at the branch which sheclaimed to have reached a week ago.

  Neither Mrs. Saumarez nor the vicar attached any weight to the somewhatemphatic argument between the two girls. It was a splendid contestbetween Martin and Elsie. It interested the elders for conflictingreasons.

  To see the graceful girl propelling herself through the air in a curveof nearly forty feet at each pendulum stroke of the swing was a pleasingsight to her father, but it caused Mrs. Saumarez to regret again thather daughter had not been taught to think more of athletic exercises andless of dress.

  While the young people were following their seniors to the drawing-room,Angele said to Elsie:

  "I think I could do that myself with a little practice."

  "You are not tall enough," was the uncompromising answer, for Elsie'stemper was ruffled by the simpering unbelief with which the othertreated her assurances.

  "Not so tall, no; but I can bend back like this, and you cannot."

  Without a second's hesitation Angele twisted her head and shouldersaround until her chin was in a line with her heels. Then she droppedlightly so that her hands rested on the grass of the lawn, straighteningherself with equal ease. The contortion was performed so quickly thatneither Mr. Herbert nor Mrs. Saumarez was aware of it. It was a displaynot suited to the conditions of ordinary costume, and it necessarilyexhibited portions of the attire not usually in evidence.

  Martin had eyes only for the girl's acrobatic agility, but Elsieblushed.

  "I don't like that," she said.

  "I can stand on my head and walk on my hands," cried Angele instantly."Martin, some day I'll show you."

  Conscious though she was that these things were said to annoy her, Elsieremembered that Angele was a guest.

  "How did you learn?" she asked. "Were you taught in school?"

  "School! Me! I have never been to school. Education is the curse ofchildren's lives. I never leave mamma. One day in Nice I saw a circusgirl doing tricks of that sort. I practiced in my bedroom."

  "Does your mother wish that?"

  "She doesn't know."

  "I wonder you haven't broken your neck," said the practical Martin, whofelt his bones creaking at the mere notion of such twisting.

  Angele laughed.

  "It is quite easy, when you are slim and elegant."

  Her vanity amused the boy.

  "You speak as though Elsie were as stiff as a board," he said. "If youhad watched her carefully, Angele, you would have seen that she is quiteas supple as you, only in a different way. And she is strong, too. Idare say she could swing with one hand and carry you in the other, ifshe had a mind to try."

  This ready advocacy of a new-found divinity angered Angele beyondmeasure. Possibly she meant no greater harm than the disconcerting of arival; but she slipped out of the room when Mr. Herbert sent Elsie tothe library to bring a portfolio of old prints which he wished to showMrs. Saumarez. Although it was never definitely proved against Angele,someone tampered with the rope before a move was made to the gardenafter tea. The cause, the effect, were equally clear; the human agentremained unknown.

  "Now, I'll prove my words," cried Elsie, darting across the lawn infront of the others.

  "Here, it's my turn," shouted the boy gleefully. "I'll race you."

  "Martin! Martin! I want you!" shrieked Angele, running after him.

  He paid no heed to her cries. Outstripping both girls in the race, hesprang at the swing, and was carried almost to the debated limit of thetree by the impetus of the rush. When he felt himself stopping he threwup his feet in a wild effort to touch the leaves so tantalizingly outof reach, and in that instant the rope broke.

  He turned completely over and fell with a heavy thud on the back of hisbent head. The screaming of the girls brought the vicar from his printsin great alarm, and his agitation increased when he discovered that theboy could neither move nor speak.

  Elsie was halfway to the White House before Martin regained his breath.Once vitality returned, however, he was quickly on his feet again.

  "What happened?" he asked, craning his head awkwardly. "I thoughtsomeone fired a gun!"

  "You frightened us nearly out of our wits," cried the vicar. "And I wasstupid enough to send Elsie flying to your people. Goodness knows whatshe will have said to them!"

  Promptly the boy shook himself and tried to break into a run.

  "I must--follow her," he gasped. But not yet was the masterful spiritable to control relaxed muscles; he collapsed again.

  Mrs. Saumarez cried aloud in a new fear, but the vicar, accustomed tothe minor accidents of the cricket field and gymnasium, was cooler now.

  "He's all right--only needs a drink of water and a few minutes' rest,"he explained.

  He bade one of the maids go as quickly as possible to the Bollands' farmand say that the mischief to Martin was a mere nothing, and then busiedhimself in more scientific fashion with restoring his patient'sanimation.

  Unfastening the boy's collar and the neckband of his shirt, Mr. Herbertsatisfied himself that the clavicle was uninjured. There was a slightabrasion of the scalp, which was sore to the touch. In a minute, orless, Martin was again protesting that there was little the matter withhim. He would not be satisfied until the vicar allowed him to start oncemore for the village, though at a more sedate pace.

  Then Mrs. Saumarez, in a voice of deep distress, asked Mr. Herbert ifthe rope had really been cut.

  "Yes," he said. "You can see yourself that there is no doubt about it."

  "But your daughter charged Angele with this--this crime. My child deniesit. She has no knife or implement of any sort in her pocket. I assureyou I have satisfied myself on that point."

  "The affair is a mystery, Mrs. Saumarez. It must be cleared up. ThankGod, Martin escaped! He might be lying here dead at this moment."

  "Are you sure it was not an accident?"

  "What am I to say? Here is a stout hempen cord with nearly all itsstrands severed as if with a razor, and the other torn asunder. An
d,from what I can gather, it was Elsie, and not Martin, for whose benefitthis diabolical outrage was planned."

  The vicar spoke warmly, but the significance of the incident was dawningslowly on his perplexed mind. Providence alone had ordained that neitherthe boy nor the girl had been gravely, perhaps fatally, injured.

  Mrs. Saumarez was haggard. She seemed to have aged in those few minutes.

  "Angele!" she cried.

  The girl, who was sobbing, came to her.

  "Can it be possible," said the distracted mother, "that you interferedwith the swing? Why did you leave the drawing-room during tea?"

  "I only went to stroke a cat, mamma. Indeed, I never touched the swing.Why should I? And I could not cut it with my fingers."

  "On second thoughts," said the vicar coldly, "I think that the mattermay be allowed to rest where it is. Of course, one of my servants may bethe culprit, or a mischievous village youth who had been watching thechildren at play. But the two girls do not seem to get on well together,Mrs. Saumarez. I fear they are endowed with widely differenttemperaments."

  The hint could not be ignored. The lady smiled bitterly.

  "It is well that I should have decided already to leave Elmsdale," shesaid. "It is a charming place, but my visit has not been altogetherfortunate."

  Mr. Herbert remembered the curious phrase in after years. He understoodit then. At the moment he was candidly relieved when Mrs. Saumarez andAngele took their departure. He jammed on a hat and hastened to theWhite House to learn what sort of sensation Elsie had created.

  A week later he made a discovery. He had a curious hobby--he was his ownbootmaker, and Elsie's, having taught himself to be a craftsman in anart which might well claim higher rank than it holds. When next herummaged among his implements for a shoemaker's knife it was missing. Itwas found in the garden next spring, jammed to the top of the hilt intothe soft mold beneath a rhododendron. The tools were kept on a bench inthe conservatory; so Angele might have accomplished her impish desire ina few seconds.

  On reaching the White House he was mildly surprised at finding Martinpropped against the knee of a tall, soldierly stranger, who wasconsoling the boy with a reminiscence of a far worse toss at polo, bywhich a hard _sola topi_ was flattened on the iron surface of an Indian_maidan_. Elsie, white, but much interested, was sipping a glass ofmilk.

  "Eh, Vicar," cried Mrs. Bolland, in whose face Mr. Herbert saw signs ofrecent excitement, "your lass gev us a rare start. She landed here likea mad thing, screamed oot that Martin was dead, an' dropped te t' flurehalf dead herself."

  "The fault was mine, Mrs. Bolland. There was an accident. At first Ithought Martin was badly hurt. I am, indeed, very sorry if Elsie alarmedyou."

  His words were meant to reassure the others, but his eyes were fixed onthe girl's pallid face. John Bolland laughed in his dry way.

  "Nay, Passon, dinnat fret aboot Elsie. She's none t' warse for a suddenstop. She was ower-excited. Where's yon lass o' Mrs. Saumarez's?"

  "Gone home with her mother. I hear they are leaving Elmsdale."

  "A good riddance!" said John heartily. He turned to Martin. "Ye'll bewinded again, I reckon?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Well, I left my ash stick i' t' low yard. Mebbe you an' t' young leddywill fetch it. There's noa need te hurry."

  This was an oblique instruction to the boy to make himself scarce forhalf an hour. With Elsie as a companion he needed no urging. They setoff, happy as grigs.

  "Noo, afore ye start te fill t' vicar wi' wunnerment," cried Martha, "Iwant te ax t' colonel a question."

  "What is it, Mrs. Bolland?"

  Colonel Grant was smiling at the vicar's puzzled air. These good peopleknew naught of formal introductions.

  "How old is t' lad?"

  "He was fourteen years old on the sixth of last June."

  "Eh, but that's grand." She clapped her hands delightedly. "I guessedhim tiv a week or two. We reckoned his birthday as a twel'month afore wefound him, and that was June the eighteenth. And what's his right neaem?"

  "He was christened after me and after his mother's family. His name isReginald Ingram Grant."

  "May I ask who in the world you are talking about?" interposed theperplexed vicar.

  "Wheae? Why, oor Martin!" cried Martha. "He's a gentleman born, God blesshim!"

  "And, what is much more important, Mrs. Bolland, he is a gentlemanbred," said the colonel.

  * * * * *

  The scene in the kitchen of the White House had been too dramatic thatsome hint of it should not reach the village that night. Soon allElmsdale knew that the mystery of Martin's parentage had been solved,and great was the awe of the boy's playmates when they heard that hisfather was a "real live colonel i' t' army." A garbled version of thestory came to Mr. Beckett-Smythe's ears, and he called on Colonel Grantat the "Black Lion" next day.

  He arrived in state, in a new Mercedes car, handled by a chauffeurreplica of Fritz Bauer. Beckett-Smythe had hardly mastered his surpriseat the colonel's confirmation of that which he had regarded as "anincredible yarn" when Mrs. Saumarez drove up. She, too, recalling themessage brought by Martin from her husband's comrade-in-arms, came toverify the strange tale told by the Misses Walker. Angele accompaniedher, and the girl's eyes shot lightning at Martin, who was on the pointof guiding his father to the moor when Mr. Beckett-Smythe put in anappearance.

  The lawyer had departed for London by the morning train; the three olderpeople and the two youngsters gathered in the room thus set at liberty,Mrs. Atkinson having remodeled it into a sitting-room for the colonel'suse.

  Mrs. Saumarez hailed the stranger effusively.

  "It is delightful to run across anyone who knew my husband," she said."In this remote part of Yorkshire none seems to have ever heard of him.Believe me, Colonel Grant, it is positively a relief to meet a man whorecognizes my name."

  She may have intended this for an oblique thrust at Beckett-Smythe,relations between the Hall and The Elms having been somewhat strainedsince the inquest. The Squire, a good fellow, who had no inkling ofAngele's latest escapade, hastened to make amends.

  "You two must want to chat over old times," he said breezily. "Why notcome and dine with me to-night? I have only one other guest--anAdmiralty man. He's prowling about the coast trying to select asuitable site for a wireless station."

  Now, Mrs. Saumarez would have declined the invitation had Beckett-Smythestopped short at the first sentence. As it was, she accepted instantly.

  "Do come, Colonel Grant," she urged. "What between the Navy and theIntelligence Department it should be an interesting evening.... Oh,don't look so surprised," she went on, with an engaging smile. "I stillread the _Gazette_, you know."

  "And what of the kiddies?" said Beckett-Smythe. "They know my boys. Yourchauffeur can bring them home at nine. By the way, the meal will bequite informal--come as you are."

  "What do you say, Martin?" said the colonel.

  "I shall be very pleased, sir; but may I--ask--my mother first?"

  The boy reddened. His new place in the world was only twenty-four hoursold, and his ideas were not yet adjusted to an order of things soastounding that he thought every minute he would wake up and find he hadbeen dreaming.

  "Oh, certainly," and a kindly hand fell on his shoulder. "I am glad youspoke of it. Mrs. Bolland is worthy of all the respect due to the bestof mothers."

  "I'll go with you, Martin," announced Angele suddenly.

  Martin hesitated. He was doubtful of the reception Mrs. Bolland mightgive the minx who had nearly caused him to break his neck, and, for hisown part, he wanted to avoid Angele altogether. She was a disturbinginfluence. He feared her not at all as a spitfire. It was when shedisplayed her most engaging qualities that she was really dangerous, andhe knew from experience that her mood had changed within the past fiveminutes. On alighting from the car she would like to have scratched hisface. Now he would not be surprised if she elected to walk with him handin hand through the village stree
t.

  His father came to the rescue.

  "Let us all go and see Mrs. Bolland," he said. "It is only a few yards."

  They went out into the roadway. Then Beckett-Smythe was struck by anafterthought.

  "If you'll excuse me, I'll run along to the vicarage and ask Herbert andhis daughter to join us," he said.

  Mrs. Saumarez bit her lip.

  "I think I'll leave Angele at home," she said in a low tone. "The childis delicate. During the past week I have insisted that she goes to bedat eight every evening."

  Colonel Grant understood why the lady did not want the two girls tomeet, but it was borne in on him that she herself was determined not tomiss that impromptu dinner party. In a vague way he wondered what hermotive could be.

  "Ah, that's a pity," he heard Beckett-Smythe say. "She can be wellwrapped up, and the weather is mild."

  He moved a little ahead of the two. Martin, determined not to be leftalone with Angele, hastened to greet his friend, Fritz. The twochauffeurs were conversing in German. Apparently, they were examiningthe engine of the new car.

  "Martin," murmured Angele, "don't bother about Fritz. He'll snap yourhead off. He's furious because he lost a map the other day."

  But Martin pressed on. No longer could Angele deceive him--"twiddle himaround her little finger," as she would put it.

  "Hello, Fritz!" he cried. "What map did you lose? Not the one I markedfor you?"

  Fritz turned. The new chauffeur closed the bonnet of the engine.

  "No," he said, speaking slowly, and looking at Angele. "It was a smallroad map. You haf not seen it, I dink."

  "Was it made of linen, with a red cover?"

  "Yez," and the man's face became curiously stern.

  "Oh, I saw you studying it one day at The Elms, but you didn't have iton the moor."

  Fritz's scowl changed to an expression of disappointment.

  "I haf mislaid it," he grunted, and again his glance dwelt on Angele,who met his gaze with a bland indifference that seemed to gall him.

  Colonel Grant drew near. He had been eyeing the two spick-and-spanchauffeurs.

  "Who is your friend, Martin?" he said. He was interested in everythingthe boy did and in everyone whom he knew.

  "Oh, this is Fritz Bauer, Mrs. Saumarez's chauffeur.... Fritz, this isColonel Grant, of the Indian Army."

  Instantly the two young Germans straightened as though some mechanismhad stiffened their spines and thrown back their heads. The newcomer'sheels clicked and his right hand was raised in a salute. Fritz, betterschooled than his comrade by longer residence in England, barelyprevented his heels from clicking, and managed to convert the saluteinto a raising of his cap. There could be no doubt that he wasflustered, because he said not a word, and the open-air tan of hischeeks assumed a deeper tint.

  Apparently, Colonel Grant saw nothing of this, or, if he noticed theman's confusion, attributed it to nervousness.

  "Two Mercedes cars in one small village!" he exclaimed laughingly. "YouGermans are certainly conquering England by peaceful penetration."

  Mrs. Saumarez elected, after all, not to visit the White House thatafternoon, so Angele, having said good-by to the colonel and Martin inher prettiest manner, was whisked off in the car.

  "By the way, Martin," said his father as the two walked to the farm."Mrs. Saumarez is German by birth. Have you ever heard anything abouther family?"

  Martin had a good memory.

  "Yes, sir," he said. "She is a baroness--the Baroness Irma vonEdelstein."

  The colonel was surprised at this glib answer.

  "Who told you?" he inquired.

  "Angele, sir. But Mrs. Saumarez did not wish people to use her title.She was vexed with Angele for even mentioning it."

  Mrs. Saumarez sent her car to bring Colonel Grant and his son to theHall. She was slightly ruffled when Fritz told her that they had gonealready, Mr. Beckett-Smythe having collected his guests from both theinn and the vicarage.

  She might have been positively indignant if she had overheard Grant'scomments to the Admiralty official while the two strolled on the lawnbefore dinner.

  "A couple of Prussian officers, if ever I saw the genuine article," saidthe colonel. "Real junkers--smart-looking fellows, too. Mrs. Saumarez isthe widow of a British officer--a fine chap, but poor as a churchmouse--and she belongs to a wealthy German family. _Verbum sap._"

  "Nuff said," grinned the sailor. "But what is one to do? No sooner isthis outfit erected but it'll be added to the display of local picturepostcards, and the next German bigwig who visits this part of thecountry will be invited to amuse himself by ringing up Bremen."

  At any rate, Mrs. Saumarez was told that night that the Yorkshire coastwas too highly magnetized to suit a wireless station. The sailor thoughtan inland town like York would provide an ideal site.

  "You see," he explained politely, "when the German High Seas Fleetdefeats the British Navy it can shell our coast towns all tosmithereens."

  She smiled.

  "You fighting men invariably talk of war with Germany as an assuredthing," she said. "Yet I, who know Germany, and have relatives there, amconvinced that the notion is absurd."

  "The Emperor has been twenty years on the throne and has never drawnsword except on parade," put in the vicar. "There may have been dangeronce or twice in his hot youth, but he has grown to like England, and Icannot conceive him plunging a great and thriving country into themorass of a doubtful campaign."

  "Ninety-nine per cent of Englishmen like to think that way," said theAdmiralty man. "In a multitude of counselors there is wisdom, so let'shope they're right."

  When the young folk got together on the terrace, Frank Beckett-Smytheasked Martin why his neck was stiff.

  "I took a toss off Elsie's swing yesterday," was the airy answer. Not aword did he or Elsie say as to Angele, and the Beckett-Smythes knewbetter than to introduce her name.

  * * * * *

  Mrs. Saumarez left for the South rather hurriedly. She paid no farewellvisits. She and Angele traveled in the car; Francoise followed with thebaggage. The Misses Walker were consoled for the loss of a valued lodgerby receiving a less exacting one in the person of Martin's father.

  The boy himself, when his mental poise was adjusted to the phenomenalchange in his life, soon grew accustomed to a new environment. Mr.Herbert undertook to direct his studies in preparation for a publicschool, and Martha Bolland became reconciled gradually to seeing himonce or twice daily, instead of all day, for he, too, lived at The Elms.

  Officially, as it were, he adopted his new name, but to the small worldof Elmsdale he would ever be "Martin." Even his father fell into thehabit.

  The colonel drove him to the adjourned petty sessions at Nottonby whenBetsy's case came on for hearing. Mr. Stockwell abandoned his criticalattitude and concurred with the police that there was no need to bringAngele Saumarez from London to attend the trial. Mrs. Saumarez gave nothought to the fact that the girl might be needed to give evidence, butthe authorities decided that there were witnesses in plenty as to theoutcry raised in the garden after Pickering was wounded.

  It was November before Betsy appeared at the county assizes. When sheentered the dock, those who knew her were astonished by the improvementin her appearance. It was probable that the enforced rest, the regularexercise, the judicious diet of the prison had exercised a beneficialeffect on her health.

  Her demeanor was calm as ever, and the able barrister who defended herdid not scruple to suggest that it would create a better effect with thejury if she adopted a less unemotional attitude.

  Her reply silenced him.

  "Do you think," she said, "that I will be permitted to atone for mywrongdoing by punishment? No. I live because my husband wished me tolive. I will be called to account, but not by an earthly judge or jury."

  She was right. The assize judge held the scales of justice impartiallybetween the sworn testimony of George Pickering and Betsy's witnesses,on the one hand, and the
evidence of Martin and the groom, backed by thescientists, on the other.

  The jury gave her the benefit of the doubt and acquitted her, but it wasnoticed by many that his lordship contented himself with ordering herdischarge from custody. He passed no opinion on the verdict.

  So Betsy was installed as mistress of Wetherby Lodge, the trusteeshaving decided that she was well fitted to manage the estate.

  Tongues wagged in Elmsdale when Mr. Stockwell drove thither one day andsolemnly handed over to Martin the sword and the double-barreled gun,and to John Bolland the pedigree cow bequeathed by George Pickering.

  The farmer eyed the animal grimly.

  "'Tis an unfortunate beast," he said. "Mebbe if I hadn't sold her tepoor George he might nivver hae coom te Elmsdale just then."

  "Do not think that," the solicitor assured him. "Pickering would mostcertainly have visited the fair. I know, as a matter of fact, that hewished to purchase one of your brood mares."

  "Ay, ay. She went te Jarmany. Well, if I'm spared, I'll send a good calfto Wetherby."

  The lawyer and he shook hands on the compact. Yet Pickering's oddbequest was destined to work out in a way that would have amazed thedonor, could he but know it.

  Martin was at Winchester--his father's old school--when he received aletter in Bolland's laborious handwriting. It read:

  "MY DEAR LAD--Yours to hand, and this leaves your mother and self in good health. We were glad to hear that the box arrived all right and that your mates think well of Yorkshire cakes. You may learn a lot of useful things at school, but you will not often meet with a better cook than your mother. She is sore upset just now about a mishap we have had on the farm. I turned out nearly all my shorthorns to graze on the low pastures. The ground was a bit damp, and a strange cow broke in at night to join them. I don't rightly know what to blame, but next day they showed signs of rinderpest. I sent for the vet, and they had to be slaughtered--all but one two-year-old bull, Bainesse Boy IV., and Mr. Pickering's cow, which were not with them in the meadow. It is a great loss, but I don't repine, now that you are provided for, and it is not quite like starting all over again, as I have my land and my Cleveland bays, and I am in no debt. In such matters I turn to the Lord for consolation. I have just read this verse to Martha: 'I have been young, and now am old; yet I have not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread.' If you are minded to look it up, you will find it in the Thirty-seventh Psalm.

  "I don't want to pretend that the blow has not been a hard one, but, God willing, there will be a hamper for you at Christmas, if Colonel Grant is too busy to bring you North. Your mother joins in much love.

  "Your affect., "JOHN BOLLAND."

  "P. S.--Maybe you will not have forgotten that Mrs. Saumarez said the land needed draining. She was a clever woman in some ways."

  The boy's eyes filled with tears. He understood only too well thefar-reaching misfortune which had befallen the farmer. The total valueof the herd was L5,000, and he remembered that experts valued the youngsurviving bull at L300 as a yearling. In all, twenty-three animals hadbeen slaughtered by the law's decree, and the compensation payable toBolland would not cover a twentieth part of the actual loss.

  Martin not only wrote a letter of warm sympathy to his adopted parentsbut sent Bolland's letter to his father, with an added commentary of hisown. Colonel Grant obtained short leave and traveled to Elmsdale nextday. It took some trouble to bring John round to his point of view, butthe argument that the farm should be restocked in Martin's interestsprevailed, and negotiations were opened with prominent breederselsewhere which resulted in the purchase of a notable bull and eightheifers, for which Bolland and the colonel each found half the money.The farmer would listen to no other arrangement, though he promised thatif he experienced any tightness for money he would not hesitate to applyfor further help.

  The need never made itself felt. The first animal to produce successfulprogeny was George Pickering's cow! No man in the North Riding was morepleased than John that day. Throughout the whole of his life the onlyperson who ever brought a charge of unfair dealing against him wasPickering. The memory rankled, and its sting was none the less bitterbecause of a secret dread that he had perhaps been guilty of a piece ofsharp practice. Now his character was cleared.

  Pattison, his old crony, asked him, by way of a joke, how much "he'dtak' for t' cauf."

  John blazed into unexpected anger.

  "At what figger de you reckon yer own good neaem, Mr. Pattison?"

  "I don't knoae as I'd care te sell it at onny price, Mr. Bollan'."

  "Then ye'll think as I do aboot yon cauf. Neyther it nor any other ofits dam's produce will ivver leave my farm if I can help it."