u're a lucky one: it's all ready for you. When me
and master come there was just nothing; and now see what it is. Look
what a garden we're getting. Here, Brooky! Did you bring in the cows?"

"Yes.--'Mornin', sir," said the man.

"'Morning. Tired after your journey?"

"Wonder if I warn't!" said the man. "I had everything to do. Look ye
here, Sam: next time waggon goes up to town you'll come too, and so I
tell the master."

"What's the matter, matey?"

"Heverything. That there Leather's no good at all. I have to do all
the work, and I won't stand it."

"Why, I thought Leather did more than you," cried Nic. "I noticed it as
we came; but you always grumbled at him."

Samson showed his yellow teeth and chuckled.

"Don't you be sarcy, sir," growled Brookes; "and what are you crowin'
at, old Sam? You needn't begin makin' a noise like a laughin' jackass.
Something's going to be changed, or I goes to another station."

"Goin' now?" shouted Samson, as the man strode off angrily.

"Never you mind," growled Brookes; and he disappeared round a barn-like
structure.

"He's got his knife into Leather," said Samson, chuckling. "Strange,
disagreeable sort o' chap, Brookes, sir. Leather's sour as Devon crabs;
but I will say this on him: he do work, and work well. But yah! a
hangel couldn't satisfy Bill Brookes. Reg'lar curds-and-whey sort o'
fellow. But don't you stand none o' that, sir," continued the old man
seriously. "You're young master: you let him have it for telling you
not to be sarcy. He wouldn't ha' said it to me; and if you don't check
him I shall tell the master. Bill Brookes wants to play first fiddle
here; but he can't and won't. I'm foreman; and if I've on'y got a
little body, Master Nic, I've got a will as big as Bill Brookes's, and
bigger too. Now I'll go and feed the pigs."

This highly interesting piece of business was gone through, Samson
mixing up some meal and water, pouring it into the troughs, and
belabouring the greedy animals with the mealy stick.

"Take your feet out o' the stuff, will yer?" he roared. "They do make
good pork and bacon and ham, Master Nic, but they are about the
savagest, fiercest things I know. Fine pigs, though, ain't they? Come
on: I want to see if that chap's getting on with the milking."

Sam led the way to a shed with open side, where the black whom Nic had
seen on the previous day was busy milking; the thick, rich milk given by
one of half a dozen