Abner gave it up. Evidently nobody was at home. He took a drink of cold water at the pump and set off home through the green lane. Half-way down it he heard a sound of muffled hoofs, and a dog-cart, of the sturdy kind that farmers use, came swinging round the corner. The driver was a woman of twenty-five to thirty years of age, swarthy, with a rich autumnal colouring, and gray eyes. Another, younger girl, with her hair in a pigtail, sat beside her. They passed Abner at a trot, but twenty yards later the driver pulled up and looked back.
‘Have you been up to The Dyke?’ she called.
‘Yes, miss,’ said Abner, taking off his cap, and approaching.
‘I don’t suppose you’d find any one in,’ she said. ‘Dad’s gone to Ludlow, and the girl’s out. What do you want?’
‘I came to ask if Mr Prosser wants any outside help for harvest.’
She looked at him steadily. Their eyes met. ‘I don’t know. What’s your name?’
‘Fellows. Abner Fellows.’
‘Where do you live? You don’t belong to these parts?’
‘Wolfpits.’
‘Wolfpits?’ She examined him more closely, repeating the word with an accent of surprise. She put a brown-gloved finger to her lip. ‘I think dad will want some one: they’re beginning the barley on Monday,’ she said slowly. ‘Tell you what . . . you’d better look up here to-morrow morning. I’ll tell dad you’re coming. So long!’