The Farm by the Lake

Chapter 10

Sunday was perfectly still and very mild; spring pensive, thinking of summer. All the fishermen went out just before dawn; Flo heard their talk going away to the water, and then the wooden rattle of oars tumbled into empty boats, and the creak and splashing dip of rowing. The sounds passed beyond hearing and the valley silence was complete again, but Flo lay and thought apprehensively of the young man. If he tried any more tricks she would be ready, though.

The great bell rang startlingly precisely at its usual time. When Flo got down Mrs. Nadin had already been to the cabin, and she asked sharply why it had not been tidied more.

“Miss Dorothy was there; and she never said go back,” Flo explained.

“We’ll have her up, the young madam,” said Mrs. Nadin sharply. “Go tell her.”

The bedroom door was locked. Flo knocked and called, but all she got was an impatient: “All right; all right.”

On Flo’s report Mrs. Nadin stumped up and filled the house with thumpings. “Come on,” she shouted. “Out o’ that. Open this door.” But it was not till twenty-five minutes later that Dot came down.

All day there was the making and delivery of meals; the collection and washing of pots. Mr. Nadin made his usual demand for Flo’s help for milking.

“You great crackpot, you,” retorted his wife, “tek yon boots off an’ milk next cow wi’ your feet; you’re clever enough ta do two at a time ta hear you talk.”

The farmer kept out of the house except for short mealtimes. Flo saw him going about the yard, watering the cattle and horses, carrying hay or buckets. Bert seemed to spend all his time at the lake; Clem disappeared after breakfast and did not come back till after tea to help with the evening milk. Dot was moody all day. In the afternoon many teas were served to casuals who had apparently strolled from Moss. Flo, so new to the work, was interested in everybody. There were several visitors whom she liked the look of; whenever there were any of this kind Dot seemed particularly annoying. Two young men with fair hair and fresh cheeks came in. Flo brought the tray, only to have it snatched away just inside the door.

“You’ve come without the cream jug, you great booby,” shouted Dot across the hut. Both young men looked up, and Flo imagined that she saw smiles forming. She felt humiliated and vindictive.

But finally dusk began to gather. Flo went slowly to the cabin, with a lingering stare over the lake. The sun was down behind the black hummock of the hill, far down the valley. A very pale rose stain was left, though most of the sky was grey-blue and dove-grey with lavender suggestions in the south. But on the water all these colours seemed run together with silver. Flo thought that a terribly dear piece of shot-silk might have looked the same; real Japanese silk it would have to have been. And even then, of course, it couldn’t have given quite the same effect of cleanness and quietness. Bert was in the little bay collecting the boats. He looked all black, and the boats looked black, but the ripples that went off from round them caught the light and showed in fascinating transient silver lines and curves. Flo stopped. It was the only time all day that she had had time to watch. Now all the boats were tied together, and Bert, standing up, began to pole the little flotilla towards the boathouse. He disappeared into its shadow as if he had, all at once, been obliterated, but the tail boats stopped and waited patiently outside. She remembered that Bert had promised to take her on the lake, and she wondered if she might go now; it would be lovely to be afloat on silk; and the willows and woods all round, with the hills behind, looked mysterious and ghosty. She imagined putting her hand over-side and feeling the delicious smoothness of silk and immediately laughed at herself. Of course, how foolish! It would simply be cold and wet. She shrugged and turned back to the cabin.

Filled with the sheen of light held on the water, her eyes were at first baffled by the gloom. She shut her lids and waited just inside. A movement, felt rather than seen, made her start violently. An arm came round her from the right, from behind the door, and she felt herself losing balance. She swayed half right, half backward, and was enclosed helplessly by a second arm. A hand shut clumsily on her left breast and hot wet lips smothered her mouth. There was an ale taste, the smell of strange unpleasant breath. She stared for an instant into grey eyes with whites flecked yellow and pink, and then felt herself released. Her flung-out hand caught the side wall. She saved herself from falling only by effort. She had not even cried out, the attack had been so adroit and unexpected. Now she saw the young man grinning satisfaction. His cap was on his head back, the peak standing up, a cloth halo, with a few streaks of black hair radiating from beneath it on a pale forehead.

“One back for swiping me on the napper,” he said, panting a little.

She stared, quivering and wary. If he came again she would slap her hardest and cry out. But something in his grinning manner prevented her; a simplicity, perhaps. As she stood fronting him she realized that there was no depth in him; he had acted as a child acts, from impulse, without thought. He had been there and she had almost walked into his arms. Yet it must not happen again.

“I’ll tell Mrs. Nadin,” she threatened quickly.

“Gimme another,” he invited. “No reason why we should fall out . . . no reason at all.”

“Get out,” ordered Flo, “or I’ll shout.”

“Why shout? Shout nothin’,” he urged intently. “Have a drink.”

“Get out,” she repeated, more confident.

“You don’t think I really minded? Have a drink. You’re a proper lass. It’s good . . . you . . .”

“If you don’t go I shall run and tell,” said Flo insistently. “She’ll not have you again. And if I tell Mister Bert, he’ll . . .”

“Him!” exclaimed the young man scornfully. “You’re a bloody bright one . . . I offer you good beer an’ . . . an’ . . . Here, I say, let’s have a bit o’ real good.”

His hand groped for the front of his trousers and he began to unbutton. For a second she was at a loss. Then all at once she went tight all over with revulsion. Then her only impulse was escape. She turned and ran. She ran to the house because of its nearness. There was a light in the front right window, and she was aware of men at the table, though only dimly, as if they, were all completely strange. In the passage her flight was checked by the clatter her boots made on the flagging. It sounded foolish and unnecessary, for there had been no pursuit. She slowed to walking, but she had reached the kitchen before the impulse to get away from her tormentor was expended. Mrs. Nadin glanced and saw her. At the table folding a cloth was Dot.

“What’s up?” demanded Mrs. Nadin promptly. “Where’s them pots?”

Flo was about to blurt out, but caught Dot staring curiously as if she had already guessed something. Gloating and superciliousness seemed together in her look, and Flo’s intention of confessing was abruptly quenched. She swallowed.

“Dunna stand gawpin’. What’s up?” demanded Mrs. Nadin.

“Nothing’,” said Flo, and turned back up the passage because she did not know what else to do.

At the front door she stopped. She heard talking in the front room, but this only increased her feeling of loneliness and helplessness. Instinctively she felt that the men there would only laugh. She peeped out. The cabin doorway was empty, but it had been empty the first time. Steps approached in the room. She slipped out and ran to the right in front of the house, till she came to the yew that held dark foliage over the garden wall. Its reddy scabbed trunk was built in with the gritstone, a part of the wall. Stepping on one of its roots, as on a ladder rung, she was safe over in two seconds. Five yards away, on the other side of the gateway out of the yard into the meadow, yellow light flowed from an open door. It set up a kind of magnetism, so that she moved towards it without conscious intention, and found herself looking into a four-shippon which she had not seen before, Under the first cow, looking up questioningly, sat Mr. Nadin.

“Eh, lass, come ta help?” he welcomed her.

Hesitantly she told him, “No, I . . . I’m supposed to be siding the cabin.”

He seemed to guess at once and said, “If it’s one o’ those b’s gettin’ fresh, tell me which an’ I’ll neck-an’-crop him into the water.” He said it quietly, as if to do what he threatened would be a simple, pleasant job. He went on stripping slickly, making the last quick draws at the fore teats and at the rear teats. “Where was it, in the cabin?” he went on, guessing from her silence that she would not tell which one it was. “They’re a pesterin’, idling set. If I had my way . . .” His unusual loquaciousness ended as he heaved his weight off the stool and swung the milk bucket up. He went to the other end of the shippon and let himself into the yard, as though deserting her. She heard milk running, and then he was coming back. Stooping, he set the empty bucket on his stool by the wall, and without a word went in front of her into the field and round by the garden corner. Flo kept three paces behind till near the cabin doubt made her go slower. He stepped in, looked round briefly, and in a moment was coming out.

“If you have any more trouble, tell me . . . I’ll cure ’em.”

He went back with long slow strides. Flo began hastily on the siding that had been so long delayed. She was relieved; she knew what she would do if there was further trouble. Fortunately, she did not have to go into the front room, being put to washing up while Dot attended on the men. It was half-past eleven again before everything was finished, and the idea that Flo should have, at least, a little of the day to herself never came up at all.

“Good neet. Five o’clock in the mornin’,” said Mrs. Nadin, as briskly as if she had done nothing all day.

Although Flo was out of bed before the big bell had finished tossing, and though she dressed without delay, she found Mrs. Nadin leaning over the bacon-board with a stack of rashers already cut. Flo was sent out at once to light the boiler fire, and told not to waste time, because the front room table had to be set. Breakfast was to be at six, but the first of the visitors did not come down till ten past. It was the big man with the growth on his nose. He sat without speaking, and at once forked up and pushed into his mouth the brownest piece of bacon off his plate. The young man did not come till twenty-five minutes past, Flo had put his plate ready beforehand, and kept away from him, but he was gloomy, and seemed to have forgotten all about the previous evening. She realized that she had been foolish to let the affair worry her. Nevertheless, she resolved to be careful with him. She was surprised when the big man asked if the trap was ready. She went into the kitchen and asked. Mr. Nadin interrupted the regular spooning up of his porridge to say:

“I’d trap the b . . . rs. Are yo’ supplyin’ ’em with cotton-wool ta lap themsel’s up in, Ma?”

“I’ll supply it to stop your great gob,” retorted Mrs. Nadin. “If you ever talk sense, it’ll choke you.”

“If he’s to waste his time drivin’ that useless crew, I’ll take Flo,” he said still quietly, but in a much more determined way.

“Tek who you like so long as you get out o’ mi way. I’ll come an’ milk ’em mysen an’ wash wi’ t’other hand, if you like,” she offered. “Tha met think tha’s get all th’ cows in creation ta milk, but there’s a two-three elsewhere, even if there is no bigger fool milkin’ ’em.”

She crossed briskly into the pantry. Her husband showed no annoyance, but when he unslung his cap from its nail he nodded briefly to Flo. It was nice to get into the yard into the morning freshness. She felt jaded, and it eased her. The farmer filled a bucket from the trough, and took down a cloth which had been drying on a nail just outside the shippon door. The bucket he set down on the shippon gangway. The cloth was soaked, and then partially wrung. Spreading it over his right hand, he caught the first cow’s tail with his left hand, curled it up and rested his weight on it, on the animal’s hip. Stooping, he reached between the cow’s legs from behind and carefully wiped its bag, as far as he could, and wiped the rear teats. Then leaning over to the right he finished off the fore part of the bag and the fore teats.

“Think you con manage?” he asked, handing her the cloth.

Flo rinsed it and went to the second cow. This was more nervous, and as she caught its tail it swung its rear end across the stall.

“Come over, you fool,” ordered the farmer, and it at once jumped back, nearly bowling Flo down. She caught its tail again. It jerked strenuously, but she held on and imprisoned it on the beast’s hip, and leaned down and began gingerly to wipe. The beast flinched, then stood stiltedly, though Flo could feel it tense, ready to leap away at the least hurt. She used a kind of massage movement and was gentle, and the cow eased.

“You’ll manage,” said Mr. Nadin.

He went to rinse his hands in the trough, and came back with his bucket, and soon milk was sizzing pleasantly into the bottom of it. Clem came in, and then there was a duet. Clem raised his eyebrows at Flo, but did not speak. Flo became more used to her job and began to be amused, and wondered what her mother and Ivy would have said. Most of the cattle, after a brief first attempt to free their tails, seemed to understand and gave no trouble. Before going to the four-shippon she got fresh water. When she had finished she wondered whether she was expected to go back to the house, but there was a calm sort of friendliness about the cattle and in the shippon, and she was reluctant to go in. Mr. Nadin, however, seemed to be expecting her to stay, for as soon as he saw her idle he told her to feed the calves. He had ready a bucket of milk which he instructed her to dilute a little. The calves behaved as though they were famished, nearly charging her over and spilling everything. They thrust their noses in too deep, and got froth and milk up their nostrils, and snorted and coughed and made a great to-do, all the time shoving jealously, sure that their neighbours were getting more.

“You greedy, silly things,” shouted Flo; but they took no notice. They drained the bucket quicker than it could have been done by a pump.

Flo looked over into the empty stall and wondered where the bull-calf was, and whether it was still tied up to the neck in the sack; and she thought of Jack Knight, and wondered whether he would come for any of the other calves. She was going back to the shippon when Mrs. Nadin knocked on the kitchen window and beckoned briskly. Flo groaned and kept the bucket in her hand, as proof that she was busy.

“Tek them things an’ put them to soak,” ordered Mrs. Nadin, nodding to an immense heap of sheets by the door.

“I’m supposed . . .”

“Ne’er mind that old fool. Let ’im do summat ’isself. Work never killed anyone an’ ’e’s as tough as muck. If tha lets him, ’ell have you runnin’ th’ farm. Cleanliness is next ta godliness, an’ a darn seet more important on washin’ day.”

Flo went with the clothes and shoved them in the oak-spale tub, and tipped cold water on and jabbed them with the boiler stick as if she was determined to drown them.

“’Ere,” said Mrs. Nadin, entering unexpectedly, “tha’ll wear ’em out. Souse ’em under, but tha dunna need ta punce holes in ’em.”

She lifted the lid off the boiler and sniffed the steam. She snicked the fire-door open and poked vigorously with a long iron like a ram-rod. She shot more coal in and smacked the door to with a clang.

After breakfast Dot was left to side and wash up and tidy the house while Flo went back to the wash-house. Mrs. Nadin rolled her sleeves, revealing arms brown and plump, which she plunged into the hottest water without hesitation. She had seemed to enjoy baking, but she seemed to enjoy washing more. When the boiler lid was lifted and steam boiled up, she stood on a milking stool and dug in with the stick with all the zest of a child after the best prize in the fish-pool. Out came sheets and pillow-cases and bolsters, and were swung adroitly over into the bucket balanced by Flo on the side. They dropped in with a souse and an uprush of more steam. Flo felt moist all over; her clothes were clammy, almost as if she had had a hot bath with them on. Then she mangled and everything had to go through three times. Mrs. Nadin planted the stool at the mangle end and kept getting up and giving the screw on top an extra part-turn till Flo could hardly get the rollers round.

“Good manglin’ saves hours o’ waiting” said Mrs. Nadin succinctly.

At last the first basket was ready, and they went out to hang the line. One end was slipped over a hook, deep driven in the yew, and there was a stump twenty yards off in the meadow. After being taken round this the end was carried back to the corner of the four-shippon, giving a fine triangular span, with room for everything. Wind caught the clothes and laved them gently so that Mrs. Nadin stopped by the gate with the basket empty and said with unusual placidity: “That’s a bonnie sight, lass. A good washin’-day’s worth a fortune.”

“Yes,” said Flo, aware of the difference in whiteness between the washing there and that that her mother did.

Going slowly to and fro along the right-hand side of the field was Mr. Nadin, leading Colonel, the shire, with a roller, which clanked pleasantly every now and then.

Clem had gone to the station with the half-legged horse, Job, with the milk. Flo did not know where Bert was. She went back with Mrs. Nadin, and after the new-grass brightness and blowiness of the meadow, the wash-house seemed duller and more confining than before. Flo saw little sweat “blisters” all over Mrs. Nadin’s forehead, and her straight hair plastered itself on her little round cranium almost as if it were grey and black paint. The second basket was filled with shirts and handkerchiefs, and Flo took it out unaided. As she was pegging the last of the things, she saw Mr. Nadin walking up.

“You con manage Colonel,” he said quietly. “Go on rolling . . . I’ve another job.”

“But I . . . I’m helping Missis,” exclaimed Flo, astonished.

“That’s all right; I’ll see ’er,” and he went on to the yard.

Flo left the basket and walked to where Colonel was standing, apparently almost asleep, nodding, so that every now and then his nose fell on the stiff thorn spikes of the hedge and made him start. Twenty seconds afterwards he would nod and prick himself again. Flo said, “Wake up,” and hooked her hand in the ring by his mouth as she had seen the others do. She thought it strange that Mr. Nadin should have left her to find out about the job herself. Self-consciously she said, “Gee up!” in as gruff a voice as she could. Colonel tilted his ears very slightly but stayed solid. She tugged and the old gelding let his head follow her hand, but his body stayed where it was and the shafts with it. At the extent of his neck reach his head stopped, and though Flo tugged her hardest, this had no further effect.

“Come up; don’t be so soft,” panted Flo, using both hands.

Suddenly the heavy gelding seemed to lose balance, plunged his near fore-foot eighteen inches to the right and swayed as if about to fall on her. But he did not. The only result was that; he shifted himself and the shafts and the roller eighteen inches, but the effort must have exhausted him for he went solid again and appeared about to fall asleep completely. Flo did not know what to do. His spasmodic lurch had scared her. She tugged once more, though not with the same vim, and this time not even his head would come. She wondered whether he were sick, or perhaps tired out. She laid her hand on his smooth chestnut neck just above his collar and was surprised by the warmth. He inclined his head a little towards her and let his lower lip fall loosely and moved his tongue so that his bit clinked. She grasped his ring to try again and caught sight of Mr. Nadin coming from the gate. Realizing how she had wasted time she made a last big effort, but Colonel was set, immovable.

“How many rounds?” asked Mr. Nadin.

“I . . . I couldn’t start,” said Flo.

“Bejabez, why not?” he inquired gravely.

“I think there must be something the matter with him.”

The farmer took the bit, Colonel braced himself. The roller began to turn and they went down the meadow at a measured walk. Flo stared, undecided whether it was Colonel’s joke or Mr. Nadin’s. When she got back to the wash-house Mrs. Nadin asked briskly where she had been, but ducked into the tub without waiting to hear. She was rubbing flannels and to reach to the bottom she had to put head and shoulders in the tub; she looked so comical that Flo could not help smiling. Mrs. Nadin popping up caught her.

“Stick your own wooden yead in,” she ordered, standing aside.

Flo bent unwillingly. Suddenly her skirt was snatched up, and she was smacked smartly. She jerked up, scarlet, but Mrs. Nadin grinned till her features were all puckered together.

“You’d do with some fat on your buttocks,” was her only comment.

Flo went out with more clothes. The roller had worked nearer. As she finished, Mr. Nadin stopped twenty yards off and beckoned.

“You let ’im bamboozle you. You’d better have another try or you’ll never do any good,” he said. Colonel turned his near ear so that its opening was towards them. “Tuck him under the belly with this if ’e winna go . . . it’s his tender spot,” the farmer went on, handing over a pliant ash shoot. “Keep level with where yo’ see I’ve bin.”

He said “Gee op!” calmly and without any other encouragement the gelding began trundling the roller again. Flo had to do a little run to catch up. For fifty yards the roller went jauntily, then it turned with a little less speed, and after a hundred yards it was travelling at a most melancholy crawl.

“Gee up; what are you trying to do?” demanded Flo, attempting to drag Colonel quicker. But all he did was hold back till at last the roller barely revolved, and then it stopped. Flo saw Mr. Nadin watching. He made a gesture that could not be mistaken. Without saying anything she brought the ash stick up smartly under the generous curve of Colonel’s belly. He almost fell through his collar and jerked the roller after him as if it were nothing. Flo was only a little less surprised than he was and nearly got the roller over her foot. After that, whenever Colonel showed sign of dallying, the least reminder of the stick was enough. As she approached the willows she felt nervous of the turn, but Colonel knew how to turn all right. He simply sat back on his breeching and screwed the roller round with minimum effort. He moiled some of the grass off, but that he didn’t mind; and Flo had no suspicion that he ought not to have done it that way. When she faced to the house the farmer had gone. She changed sides so that she could keep watch better that the roller did not overlap too much the part that was already done. She noticed how vivid the contrast of the greens was; dark on the strips like the one they had just finished where the grass was bent towards her, light on the alternate strips where the grass leaned away. Colonel nodded on, not as fast as he had done at first, but steadily, as if he had accepted her, and she had time to glance back and notice that then all the strips were different, the dark ones light, and the light turned dark. It was so simple, yet it surprised and pleased her, and she decided to tell her mother about it in her next letter.

She thought how much better it was walking down the field than being steamed in the wash-house. Mrs. Nadin hadn’t seemed to care much when she had stayed before, so perhaps she would not mind this time; and no doubt Mr. Nadin would soon come back. Therefore Flo gave herself to the morning and felt something of the fertile promise of the earth. It was not nearly all new grass yet, but the new spikes that there were stood up with tender eagerness that even Flo could recognize. Colonel occasionally clicked his hoofs as if even he felt gay now that he had really got going. They approached the hedge. A thrush was in an alder which had brown catkins, like frilling, hanging on the branches. The thrush had its breast towards the sun as if proud of his speckled front and his beak opened to the limit and the feathers moved on his blown-out throat. The girl and the horse and everyone else he ignored. Flo stared, amused and happy, because she had never seen a bird so close so engrossed with song. Colonel slowed, without instruction and stopped with his nose just over the hedge. Flo started at a familiar voice.

“Yo’re non keepin’ straight,” it said. “Making th’ job spin out, I reckon.”

She peeped over and almost level saw Jack Knight on the near side of his float. He smiled. His fair hair stood up in front amusingly.

“Better than washin’-up, eh?” he asked, grinning, big white teeth showing.

“Better than washing, anyway,” she agreed, smiling back, aware of the thrush still singing.

“Better’n lots o’ jobs; best job as there is in spring.”

She patted Colonel’s neck.

“The old man about?”

“He was here not many minutes since . . . in the field.”

“I’ll call, then. Didn’t want to if he werena about.”

“What . . . what did you do with the calf?” asked Flo, again seeing its pathetic puzzled look when it was made prisoner up to the neck.

“That’s what I come ta pay for,” he answered, “an’ I’ve brought th’ sack.”

“Was it . . . was it killed?” she asked.

“Nay, it’s a good un; it’s a doer,” he said, his face sober, his tone impressive. “I’m keepin’ it. You conna feed owt as winna eat, but yon mon . . . ’e’ll eat everythin’. I like them sort.”

She was relieved, but did not like to say so.

“’E’ll make good beef, that mon will,” said Jack. “Ah well, ta-ta the noo; see you some more.”

“What? That’s funny,” said Flo. “I never heard that before.”

“It’s what they say in Scotland; in Edinburgh, anyway.” He laughed gently as if remembering something particularly pleasant.

“I like it. Ta-ta the noo; see you . . . see you . . .”

“Some more,” he finished for her. They smiled together. Jack gave the reins a toss and his piebald nag scraped a stone away with its off forefoot and then started. Flo had to walk round the roller to Colonel’s off side. She could seet Jack’s head going along the hedge top; it was funny, no body and no horse. She laughed and gave a tug to Colonel’s bit. He held back, but a touch with the ash switch made him quickly change his mind. They went clankingly towards the lake once more and now she saw someone waiting just within the willows. There was a rather dazzling gleam behind him, but she knew that it was Bert. She wondered if he had seen her standing with Jack Knight, and whether it mattered.

“The old man’s caught you, eh?” he asked, and at once Colonel stopped comfortably, as if it had been an order.

“He’s just gone in for a minute or two,” said Flo.

Bert smiled sarcastically. He had a gun balanced over his right wrist and under his armpit, both his hands resting comfortably in the cross-pockets of his breeches. A little breeze came through the willows off the water and blew her dress out from her, tightening it down her left front and she knew that he was noticing. She looked away and turned a little sideways.

“I just want ta tell you,” he said seriously, “if ever you see anyone about here as you think shouldn’t be . . . anyone in the withies, or anywhere . . . let me know. There’s a young brat from Nether side as is allus tryin’ his tricks.”

“Tricks?” repeated Flo.

“After fish an’ ducks an’ owt else; but ’e’ll catch summat as he doesn’t want if I get my hands on him.”

“Oh,” said Flo. Bert’s lean lips had gone together and his weathered face looked strong and attractive. She had not noticed it indoors as she did now.

“There’s a hundred or so ducks nest here, an’ they want some looking after,” he told her.

“I’d better be getting on,” she said, still conscious of the wind’s play and of his steady observation.

“It’s a weary job, eh? Why don’t you sit on an’ let Colonel do the work?”

“How?” she asked, thinking of the trouble she had had at first.

“Reins,” he answered. “No good wearing your feet out. Damn walking, if there’s chance ta ride.”

His hands searched and he lifted from his left pocket a wad of binder string. Having leaned his double-barrel against a willow stole he unbuckled the bridle rein from over the hames and tied one end of the string to each length of leather. There was just enough. He showed her where to sit on the frame at the side and told her that she would make it roll better. “More weight,” he explained with a wink.

She hastily called on Colonel to start. He put a hoof forward tentatively, then drew it back.

“Gee up, you lazy owd sod,” ordered Bert shying a walnut-sized stone at his ribs.

The gelding started so briskly that Flo nearly fell backward. Only the loop of binder string saved her, and her unexpected tug on it caused Colonel to stop as abruptly as he had set off.

“Get yer!” threatened Bert, and the gelding restarted, but at an angle of thirty degrees. “Dunna let ’im run off with you,” called Bert, enjoying it.

In her flurry she pulled the wrong side and Colonel veered more. She tugged the other way harder than she knew, and the gelding came back in a short curve, almost a circle. She had lost the edge of the previous strip and didn’t know which way to turn. In an effort to straighten out she pulled on both reins together and Colonel began to back. The shafts rose at the collar to the length of the hame chains and the whole frame tilted, so that she very nearly slid off the back a second time, giving an extra tug on the reins which made Colonel back more energetically. Before Flo could recover the roller was over the edge and ran crackingly into the willows. This time she fell off. Colonel sat back in the breeching very comfortable. Bert grinned more than ever.

“You munna do it like that,” he teased.

“I shall walk,” said Flo, feeling fooled. She brushed at the moss and soil on her frock and wished that he hadn’t seen her. He caught Colonel’s bit and coaxed him on to the level. Flo following saw the foolish track she had made.

“Here, drive along the last mark,” he said nodding.

“I’d sooner walk,” she said.

“Don’t be daft; riding’s better. Pull this side when you want him to go this way, and t’other side when . . .”

“I know,” said Flo coldly.

She settled on the frame again and there was no more trouble. The roller swayed and bumped a little, but the slight discomfort was more than made up by the increased feeling of mastery over Colonel which the reins gave her. She was away from his great hooves, and he no longer overshadowed her. Really it was rather fun being trundled over the grass. Her pleasure was upset by an angry whistle. Colonel stopped. Mrs. Nadin was at the yard gate impatiently waving.

“Come ’ere . . . what d’you mean?” came faintly but imperatively over the grass.

Colonel was still a hundred yards from the hedge.

“Leave ’im,” came a more angry shout.

“What the hell are you doin’?” demanded Mrs. Nadin as Flo walked up. “I guess the bloody old fool set you on, eh? I’m boss here, an’ dunna forget it. He wouldna care if his shirt cracked wi’ muck. Bring the wisket. Manglin’s waitin’. If you slip off agen, I’ll tansel you.”

Flo at the gate gave a last doubtful glance to Colonel. His nose had dropped almost to his knees and he looked already asleep. When she went out twenty-five minutes later with a basket of vests and pants and stockings he was still there as settled as a statue. But she dared not go to him. She wondered if Bert knew, and then almost at the same moment she heard a shot from past the boat-house somewhere. She looked but could not see him. After she had been back in the wash-house five minutes she ventured to ask if it was all right leaving Colonel.

“Why the heck not?” demanded Mrs. Nadin tartly. “If ’e conna look after him, let ’im stond.”

When Flo went out with the last batch, dusters and spare miscellaneous cloths, Colonel had gone and the roller was by the barn end with its shafts tilted at the milky blue sky. When Mr. Nadin came in for dinner Flo expected a row, but he sat without a word. Mrs. Nadin put his steaming mutton stew down out of the oven with a, “Tek that an’ dunna brun thiself like a babby”, and Colonel was never mentioned.