The others followed.
"No, not there," yelled the man, as if he were addressing someone in the next field. "Turn round to left o' that there muck 'eap."
A convulsive shudder passed over Mr. Hearty's frame. He was appalled at the coarseness engendered by an agricultural existence. He hurried on so that he should not have to meet Mrs. Bindle's eye.
At that moment Farmer Timkins was seen approaching. He was a short, red-faced man in a bob-tailed coat with large flapped-pockets, riding-breeches and gaiters. In his hand he carried a crop which, at the sight of Mrs. Bindle, he raised to his hat in salutation.
"Mornin'."
"Good afternoon," said Mr. Hearty genteelly.
The farmer fixed his eyes upon Mr. Hearty's emaciated sallowness, with all the superiority of one who knows that he is a fine figure of a man.
"It was you that upset Oscar, wasn't it?" There was more accusation than welcome in his tone.
"Upset Oscar?" enquired Mr. Hearty, nervously looking from the farmer to Mrs. Bindle, then back again to the farmer.
"Yes, my bull," explained Mr. Timkins.