nt, moist. But the creature backed away
from her hand, snuffling, and its cynical, soft eyes with chestnut
lashes seemed warning the girl that she belonged to the breed that might
be trusted to annoy.

In the last fields before the Joyfields crossroads they came up with a
little, square, tow-headed man, without coat or cap, who had just driven
some cattle in and was returning with his dog, at a 'dot-here dot-there'
walk, as though still driving them. He gave them a look rather like that
of the bullock Nedda had tried to stroke. She knew he must be one of the
Malloring men, and longed to ask him questions; but he, too, looked shy
and distrustful, as if he suspected that they wanted something out of
him. She summoned up courage, however, to say: "Did you see about poor
Bob Tryst?"

"I 'eard tell. 'E didn' like prison. They say prison takes the 'eart out
of you. 'E didn' think o' that." And the smile that twisted the little
man's lips seemed to Nedda strange and cruel, as if he actually found
pleasure in the fate of his fellow. All she could find to answer was:

"Is that a good dog?"

The little man looked down at the dog trotting alongside with drooped
tail, and shook his head:

"'E's no good wi' beasts--won't touch 'em!" Then, looking up sidelong, he
added surprisingly:

"Mast' Freeland 'e got a crack on the head, though!" Again there was
that satisfied resentment in his voice and the little smile twisting his
lips. Nedda felt more lost than ever.

They parted at the crossroads and saw him looking back at them as
they went up the steps to the wicket gate. Amongst a patch of early
sunflowers, Tod, in shirt and trousers, was surrounded by his dog and
the three small Trysts, all apparently engaged in studying the biggest
of the sunflowers, where a peacock-butterfly and a bee were feeding, one
on a gold petal, the other on the black heart. Nedda went quickly up to
them and asked:

"Has Derek come, Uncle Tod?"

Tod raised his eyes. He did not seem in the least surprised to see her,
as if his sky were in the habit of dropping his relatives at ten in the
morning.

"Gone out again," he said.

Nedda made a sign toward the children.

"Have you heard, Uncle Tod?"

Tod nodded and his blue eyes, staring above the children's heads,
darkened.

"Is Granny still here?"

Again Tod nodded.

Leaving Felix in the garden, Nedda stole upstairs and tapped on Frances
Freeland's door.

She, whose stoicism permitted her th