WINTER tightened its grip on the moor when the New Year came in. The weather-wise knew it would be so, when night after night a deep halo of gold and brown circled the moon, and the farmers gathered their sheep together lest they should be lost in the drifts with which long experience had made them familiar.
January passed, however, and their expectations were not realised; but the long bent grass curved beneath the weight of its frosted jewels; and the surface of the moor and the shelving sides of the hills were so silvered that scarcely a hint of green was given over the whole extent. The waters of the tarn were frozen, inches thick, and the ruts in the road were hard as chiselled masonry.
Overhead the sky was faintly blue, and the sun pursued his daily course from Cawden to Fountains’ Fell, shawled in mist, like an age-worn and enfeebled pilgrim who will do his duty while he has strength to move at all, but who has no warmth to spare for those who travel in his company.
If the sun was sluggish and ineffective no such fault could be found with the winds that whistled over the moors and in the chimneys of farm and cottage, for they were strong as wild horses, and biting as fine hail. Woe to the ears that were exposed to the full force of the blast upon the uplands, for they were seared as with hot irons! Yet who that was healthy and stout of heart; who that was moorland born, and was, with the ling and the cotton-grass part and parcel of the moor but felt his pulse beat to a quicker and more joyous rhythm as he fought the wind or leaned his back against it!
Of that doughty company was old Squire Harris, lord of the manor and owner, though not master, of thousands of broad rebellious acres; master, on the other hand, of the hearts of men and women who owed him no allegiance governed by the purse; a man of whom Mawm was proud, and whose kindliness and justice earned him the respect even of evildoers. Heavy of body and light of heart he sat his horse on this cold February morning, paying no heed to the stinging attentions of the wind, but with an observant eye on the work that was going on in the yard of the home farm.
“A good lad at his job, Yorke,” he said approvingly to the steward who was standing at the stirrup; “Jagger always framed well from being a lad; and Briggs has been a fool to part with him. Did you say his father was about?”
“He left not ten minutes ago,” replied the steward. “You’ll overtake him if you’re going towards the village.”
The squire nodded and moved away. Five minutes later he caught sight of Maniwel’s sturdy figure and cantered up to his side.
“Well, Drake!” he said heartily as he checked his horse’s pace; “your head would make the fortune of one of these new-fangled painters, for it’s a study in bright colours—blue ears and pink cheeks!”
“A Happy New Year to you, Mr. Harris—what’s left of it!” returned the other. “It’s better to be blue outside than inside, anyway; and after all it’s a bit o’ real Yorkshire, is this wind; and what more can a man want i’ February?”