"She knows I can't get away in harvest."
"Oh, yes, we can, for the evenings, while we're only reaping."
He looked up at her drearily.
"Are we going to have any harvest this year, honey?"
"Why, of course. Even if the men do come out for a bit—more fools they—it's only what has happened in lots of places. They'll have to come in again when their savings are gone—which won't be long. And anyway we can carry on with the few who'll stay."
"Ay. I suppose we'll manage somehow. But do you think we're right to hold out? Willerbys would give in if we would."
She bent across the table towards him, leaning with her hands outspread on the linen cloth, her strong arms bared to the elbow. The concentrated energy of her quiet voice had gathered to itself all other force and light from the room.
"Are you afraid, John?" she asked.
He shifted in his chair and spoke irritably. "No, not exactly. But all this tomfoolery and speechifying is a bit too much for me. I'm not a boy to begin all over again getting used to new ideas."
"A boy! Why, anyone would think you were an old man from the way you talk, instead of being only just over fifty. This is nothing but what's going on all over the country, good gracious! It will be all over and done with in a week or two, and the men will realize how they've been fooled and come back to work and feed out of your hand."