“Well, ’tis this way, Robbins,” he cried roughly, “take it or leave it, an’ please yourself. I’ve made ye a fair offer, an’ more than a fair offer. I can get another man to do all the work for ten shillin’ a week—men be plenty an’ work be scarce—’tis clear loss of six shillin’ a week out o’ my own pocket, an’ if I’m willin’ to put up with it you should be content; I’ll stick to my bargain.”
“Well, I bain’t content, master,” cried Robbins, a dull fire coming into his eyes. “I’d sooner leave—I’d sooner give notice—ay, that I would.”
I be mazed; I be fair mazed
Farmer Joyce raised hands and eyes to Heaven.
“I never heard such talk from a reasonable man. If you do leave me, how be you a-goin’ to live? Who’s a-going to take you on as a new hand if you leave me? It’ll be the House, man. There, don’t talk so foolish like. Think it over an’ give me your answer on Saturday. I’ll not hear a word on’t till then. It’s never my way to be hasty. Take time, shepherd; take time. When you’ve a-thought it over you’ll find it’s not such a bad bargain.”
He turned away and strode down the hill, crook and pitchfork on shoulder. Robbins made no effort to detain him, but stood watching the receding figure in a dazed way till it disappeared at the angle of the lane. Then he walked back slowly to the enclosure where the sheep were still feeding and stood for a moment or two looking at them according to his custom, but without noticing them.
“I be mazed,” he said to himself; “I be fair mazed.”
Gradually he woke to the consciousness that his limbs were trembling under him, and his head dizzy, and leaving the sheep pen he entered the hut and sat down on the solitary chair which it contained. In one corner, curled up on an old coat that Robbins sometimes put on when the nights were exceptionally cold, lay his dog, which, on his master’s entrance, opened its eyes without raising its head and wagged its tail in welcome. The keen yellow eyes remained fixed on Robbins’ face, and after a time the tail ceased wagging, and the dog stiffly rose, shook itself, and pattered across the floor to the shepherd’s feet. Finding still no return, it laid its head upon Abel’s knee, looking up into his face with such a world of dumb questioning anguish that it at length elicited a response. Robbins stretched out his hand, which still shook oddly, and patted the tawny head,
“Ay, Bob, I see thee,” he said; “there, down, down!” as the dog, springing up, began to lick his face. “We can’t help it, boy; we’re to be chucked out, thee and I. You be getting old, too, an’ ’tis a sin to be old i’ these times. Nobody wants us, Bob. If some folks had their will you an’ me ’ud be knocked on the head, Bob; an’ I do ’low it ’ud be the best way. I could a’most wish as somebody ’ud come up without my knowing it an’ jest—settle me. Livin’s poor work when folk be wishin’ to be rid on ye.”