He sidled away, muttering wonderful oaths as curiously he watched the Alien's tackling. The load was a tree brought down by the recent gale; protruding roots clawed the mud behind; piled branches nodded to the fore, orange-red berries bright as coral dangling there. Christian's great strength made light of the work, and soon the cart went crawling out of the mire. He snapped off a twig to scrape the mud from his shins, and the gaffer's mutter then caught his ear.
'He's done it—sure! Be danged if I reckoned he could. Well, well, some be liars!'
'In your best days, Gaffer, you might have done as much.'
The old face wrinkled with a sour grin.
''Twas said you couldn't abide the rowan.'
'Why?'
'Well, I never asked. May be they lie who swear that never a twig of the rowan goes in your boat. Some have taken to say so.'
'None, true enough. What then?' said Christian, and he noticed that the man had thrust a bunch of berries into his belt.
'Well, there, 'tis not I that can give the reason.'
'Can you think mine the only boat that goes without that garnish?'