“He can’t answer that, Fred.”
They shouted, but at the word tithes Mr. Dunnock had slammed the door in their faces. The ploughmen knocked again, and for some minutes the sound echoed through every room in the house. Anne could see that they were puzzled, and in some doubt what to do next. One or two of them were laughing, another scratched his head while he said: “Called us beggars, did he? Reckon we work as hard as he.” Presently they retreated to one corner of the garden and remained talking together for some little while, until Maggie appeared from round the corner of the kitchen and called out to them.
“You had best go away,” she said. “The parson he says you are a lot of lazy louts. I heard him. He won’t give you naught. You won’t get nothing if you do plough his doorstep up.” The ploughmen did not answer her, nor did they appear to pay any attention to her words, but slowly went back to their horses’ heads. “What must be, must be,” said the oldest of the company, laying hold of the handles of the plough. “I’ld as lief keep the custom. Come on, boys!” he shouted. At these words Anne could see that they all suddenly recovered their good humour, and a moment after they began joking among themselves.
“Parson will have to wipe his feet on his mat before we have done with him,” said one lad.
“There won’t be anyone shy of paying us our pennies after this,” added another.
“Let him preach what sermon he likes next Sunday; there won’t be no one but his daughter and our Maggie to hear him swearing.”
“Hey, my beauties!” shouted the ploughman at the handles.
The great horses strained and began to move; the young carters at their heads shouted and led the team in a wide circle across the untouched snowfield which was the lawn; the plough sidled and circled through the snow, and the men began arguing with the horses.
“Hold back, can’t you!”
“Steady there, whoa.”