the lines of anguish that seamed his
weather-beaten face, touched them to the quick. But what could they do?
They were day-labourers, with wives and children dependent on the work
of their hands. Walling meant tenpence a day and regular work for at
least six months, and the choice lay between that and the dreaded
"Bastile," as Yorkshiremen in the years that succeeded the French
Revolution had learnt to call the workhouse.

So the work went on, and each day saw "the snakes" approaching nearer to
their goal on the crest of the fells. Peregrine still pursued his
calling, for the farmers, partly to humour the old man, gave orders that
a gap here and there should be left in the walls through which he could
drive his flocks. The work slackened somewhat during the hay harvest,
and the services of the wallers were enlisted in the meadows below. But
when the hay was gathered into the barns--there are no haystacks in the
Yorkshire dales--walling was resumed with greater vigour than before.
The summer was advancing, and the plan was to finish the work before the
winter storms called a halt. All hands were therefore summoned to the
task, and the farmers themselves would often join the bands of wallers.
Peregrine kept out of their way as far as possible, hating nothing so
much as the sound of their hammers dressing the stone. But one day, as
he rounded a rocky spur, he came upon the chief farmer of the district,
as he was having dinner with his men under the lee of the wall he was
building. Seeing that an encounter was unavoidable, the shepherd
advanced boldly to meet his adversary.

"I've catched thee at thy wark at last have I, Timothy?" were his words
of greeting, and Timothy Metcalfe cowered before a voice which seared
like one of his own branding-irons. "Enclosin' t' freemen's commons is
nobbut devil's wark, I's thinkin'," Peregrine went on relentlessly, "and
I've marked thee out for devil's wark sin first thou tried to bring more
nor thy stint o' Swawdill yowes on to t' moor."

The wallers received this home-thrust with a smile of approval, and
Timothy, roused by this, sought to defend himself.

"It's noan devil's wark," he retorted. "Enclosure was made by order o'
t' commissioners."

"Aye, I know all about t' commissioners--farmers hand i' glove wi' t'
lawyers frae t' towns, and, aboon all, a government that's i' t'
landlords' pockets. What I say is that t' common land belongs iverybody,
an' sike-like as thee have gotte