t
covered everything that was left exposed to the salt-thick marsh air.

Joanna stood in the middle of the yard looking keenly round her like a
cat, then like a cat she pounced. The interior of the latest built barn
was dimly lit by a couple of windows under the roof--the light was just
enough to show inside the doorway five motionless figures, seated about
on the root-pile and the root-slicing machine. They were Joanna's five
farm-men, apparently wrapped in a trance, from which her voice
unpleasantly awoke them.

"Here, you--what d'you think you're doing?"

The five figures stiffened with perceptible indignation, but they did
not rise from their sitting posture as their mistress advanced--or
rather swooped--into their midst. Joanna did not expect this. She paid a
man fifteen shillings a week for his labour and made no impossible
demands of his prejudices and private habits.

"I've been up an hour," she said, looking round on them, "and here I
find all of you sitting like a lot of sacks."

"It's two hours since I've bin out o' my warm bed," said old Stuppeny
reproachfully.

"You'd be as much use in it as out, if this is how you spend your time.
No one's been to the pigs yet, and it wants but half an hour to
milking."

"We wur setting around for Grace Wickens to bring us out our tea," said
Broadhurst.

"You thought maybe she wouldn't know her way across the yard if you was
on the other side of it? The tea ain't ready yet--I tell you I haven't
had any. It's a fine sight to see a lot of strong, upstanding men
lolling around waiting for a cup of tea."

The scorn in Joanna's voice was withering, and a resentful grumble
arose, amidst which old Stuppeny's dedication of himself to a new sphere
was hoarsely discernible. However the men scrambled to their feet and
tramped off in various directions; Joanna stopped Fuller, the shepherd,
as he went by.

"You'll be taking the wethers to Lydd this morning?"

"Surelye."

"How many are you taking?"

"Maybe two score."

"You can take the lot. It'll save us their grazing money this winter,
and we can start fattening the tegs in the spring."

"There's but two score wethers fit for market."

"How d'you mean?"

"The others aeun't fatted praeaperly."

"Nonsense--you know we never give 'em cake or turnips, so what does it
matter?"

"They aeun't fit."

"I tell you they'll do well enough. I don't expect to get such prices
for them as for that lot you've kept down in