“Say on, Billy, lad! Say on.”
“Well, now, if Fool Billy were going to climb a hill, like, after what ye might call a stretch o’ level walking, he’d sit him down first, would Billy, at th’ hill-foot, and think a deal about it.”
“Ay, warrant he would!” chuckled David.
“Then he’d start fair again for yond up-hill climb. Do the like wi’ your netting, misters? Cut ’un off, says Billy, where he begins to go up-hill—cut ’un off as clean as a whistle, and start him fair again.”
David’s practical mind grasped at once that this was the right solution of the difficulty, and he laughed nearly as loud as Yeoman Hirst.
“Seems there’s only one wise man in Garth! To think of us, Farmer, fuming and fretting, and wasting our time; and Billy strolls up, and looks about him, and sets us straight in a minute. How d’ye do it, Billy, lad?”
“Nay, I do naught. I’d be feared to, David! A fearsome thing ’twould be if I’d to work like other-some of ye.”
Like a great general Billy stood by, and watched the progress of the work, when the four men set about their task again. His advice proved sound, and the netting began to climb the hill in an orderly, straight line.
As they worked—the sun lying now, a ball of softened fire, upon the edge of Sharprise Hill—the gate of the croft was opened again, impatiently this time, and Reuben Gaunt came through on horseback. Billy had seen and heard him long before the others had; but he was the only one who did not turn his head about as Gaunt approached.
“Good day, Mr. Hirst,” said Reuben, not pleased to find David and Billy here, yet striving to cover up his uneasiness.