Overjoyed and sorry in a breath, she gave him one of those brief, half-ashamed caresses that rarely passed between them. "Art right, dear," she said—"but God knows what it has meant to thee."
"And I know, lass—and that is all we'll say about it. After all, 'twas hot and sweet enough—but father would have cursed me had he lived to know; and old Nicholas would liefer have drowned Janet in Wildwater Pool than see her wedded to a Wayne. Even thou, lass, didst rail on me when I told thee how it was between us; and thou'rt a woman.—See Bog-hole brink up yonder; that should be Hiram's figure stooping to the spade."
Hiram Hey, indeed, had been busy since early morning at the brink, as befitted the oldest farm-hand of the Waynes. Death might have put an end to the old man's activity, but it was no part of the Marshcotes creed that farming matters should be set aside for even a day because the owner of the land awaited burial. There was always a fresh master to take the old one's place, but the right season for a tillage-job, if once it was let slip by, did not return again. It was high time that this bit of field, intaken from the heather during the open days of winter, should be prepared for its seed-crop of black oats; and Hiram was working, with his wonted easiful swing of arm and downright leisurely tread, at the square heap of peat and lime that stood at the upper corner of the field. His spade, at each downward stroke showed the naked side of the heap, where the alternate layers of black bog-peat and white lime, each a twelve-inch deep or so, climbed one above the other to half a tall man's height; and peat and lime mingled in a grey-black dust as he swung spadeful after spadeful in the waiting cart.
"He'll noan be pleased, willun't th' Maister, 'at he's been called to a better world afore he's seen this field rear its first crop o' oats," muttered Hiram. "Nay, it do seem fair outrageous, like, to wark as he's done to break up a plaguey slice o' land, an' then to dee fair as all's getten ship-shape. A better world he's goan to? I'm hoping as mich—for it 'ud tak him all his time to find a war."
"What art laking at, Hiram?" came a voice from behind.
Hiram put a few more spades-full into his cart before troubling to turn round; then he planted his spade in the ground, firmly and with deliberation, and leaned on it; and last of all he lifted his eyes to the newcomer's face. "Oh, it's thee, is't, Jose? Well?" he said.
"Well?" answered Jose, the same shepherd who earlier in the morning had directed Mistress Wayne to Wildwater.
Neither broke the silence for awhile, for they were fast friends. "Been shepherding like?" ventured Hiram Hey at length.
"Ay. 'Twar a lamb-storm last neet, an' proper, an' I've lossen a two-three ewes through 't already, not to mention lambs. I doubt this lambkin 'ull niver thrive," answered Jose, leaning over the fence and holding a four-days' lamb toward Hiram.
"I doubt it willun't," responded the other, with a critical glance at the thin body and drooping hind-quarters.