what they say at the Woolpack," cried Joanna, "and what
business have you to know what they say there? I don't like my gals
hanging around pubs."

"I didn't hang araeound, ma'am. 'Twas Socknersh toeald me."

"Socknersh had no business to tell you--it's no concern of yours."

Martha put her hand over her mouth to hide a grin, but Joanna could see
it in her eyes and the dimples of her cheeks.

A sudden anger seized her.

"I won't have you gossiping with Socknersh, neither--you keep away from
my men. I've often wondered why the place looks in proper need of
scrubbing, and now I know. You can do your work or you can pack off. I
won't have you fooling around with my men."

"I doean't fool araeound wud your men," cried Martha indignantly. She was
going to add "I leave that to you," but she thought better of it,
because for several reasons she wanted to keep her place.

Joanna flounced off, and went to find Socknersh at the shearing. In the
shelter of some hurdles he and one or two travelling shearers were busy
with the ewes' fleeces. She noticed that the animal Socknersh was
working on lay quiet between his feet, while the other men held theirs
with difficulty and many struggles. The July sunshine seemed to hold the
scene as it held the Marsh in a steep of shining stillness. The silence
was broken by many small sounds--the clip of the shears, the panting of
the waiting sheep and of the dogs that guarded them, and every now and
then the sudden scraping scuttle of the released victim as it sprang up
from the shearer's feet and dashed off to where the shorn sheep huddled
naked and ashamed together. Joanna watched for a moment without
speaking; then suddenly she broke out:

"Socknersh, I hear it's said that the new lambs ull be poor in wool."

"They're saying it, missus, but it aeun't true."

"I don't care if it's true or not. You shouldn't ought to tell my gal
Martha such things before you tell me."

Socknersh's eyes opened wide, and the other men looked up from their
work.

"Seemingly," continued Joanna, "everyone on this farm hears everything
before I do, and it ain't right. Next time you hear a lot of tedious
gossip, Dick Socknersh, you come and tell me, and don't waste it on the
gals, making them idle."

She went away, her eyes bright with anger, and then suddenly her heart
smote her. Suppose Socknersh took offence and gave notice. She had
rebuked him publicly before the hired shearers--it was enough to make