"Good-morning, my men," he said pleasantly when he got within speaking distance. "How is it you are not at work?"
A sort of sullen silence had come over them at his approach. No one attempted to break it, but each looked covertly at the other for guidance—all except the stranger, who turned his back and became apparently deeply interested in the ducks on the water.
"You're all here, aren't you? No accident, I hope?" said the vicar.
"No accident as I know on," answered the foreman at last.
He was a man who had been in the choir, but had left for some stupid reason or fancied slight, known only to himself. Mr. Rutland had been extremely kind to him always, and had helped him more than once with money when an accident during harvest had kept him out of work.
"Well," said the vicar, turning very red with an evident effort to keep his temper, "since none of you have anything to say, I will wish you good-morning."
"Well, but we have something to say," said another man roughly.
This man had had three children down with the fever, and the doctor had given them every attention, even sitting up half the night on occasion when two of them had been in a very critical state. He had behaved very differently then from what he was doing now. He thrust his hands into his trousers pockets, and tried to look as callous as he could.
The vicar looked at him for the eighth part of a second with disgust.
"Well, then, Cadger, stand up and say it properly," he said authoritatively.