But at last a butcher's boy on a bicycle came along, and Janet stopped him.
"Lycett's?" he said. Then he brightened. "Lickets, perhaps you mean. That's up the next turning to the left. I don't know who's got it, because I'm a stranger here, but I've heard that Lickets lies that way."
So Robert was recalled from a distant meadow where he had seen a man working, and they hurried on.
The turning was not a main road, but a long lane, which was so narrow that nothing else could possibly have passed by had they met anything; and for a while nothing did come. And then suddenly at a bend there was a fat farmer driving a dogcart straight at them.
He pulled up at once, and roared out: "Where be you coming to, then? We don't want no gipsies here."
Kink stopped too, and the farmer and he glared at each other.
"You must back down to the next gate," said the farmer.
"Back yourself," said Kink. "Your load's lighter than mine."
"But it's my land you're on," said the farmer.
"It's a public road," said Kink.