he farmyard, he noticed that Peter
crossed the yard like one who had never been in a farmyard before; he
looked less like a farmer than ever, and when he looked at the cows,
James wondered if he could be taught to see the difference between an
Alderney and a Durham.

"There's Kate," he said; "she's a good cow; as good a cow as we have,
and we can't get any price for her because of that hump on her back."

They went to the styes; there were three pigs there and a great sow
with twelve little bonhams, and the little ones were white with silky
hair, and Peter asked how old they were, and when they would be fit for
killing. And James told Peter there were seven acres in the Big field.

"Last year we had oats in the Holly field; next year you'll sow
potatoes there." And he explained the rotation of crops. "And, now," he
said, "we will go down to Crow's Oak. You have never done any
ploughing, Peter; I will show you."

It was extraordinary how little Peter knew. He could not put the
harness on the horse, and he reminded James that he had gone into the
post-office when he left school. James gave in to him that the old red
horse was hard to drive, but James could drive him better than Peter
could lead him; and Peter marvelled at the skill with which James
raised his hand from the shaft of the plough and struck the horse with
the rein whilst he kept the plough steady with the other hand.

"Now, Peter, you must try again."

At the end of the headland where the plough turned, Peter always wanted
to stop and talk about something; but James said they would have to get
on with the work, and Peter walked after the plough, straining after it
for three hours, and then he said: "James, let me drive the horse. I
can do no more."

"You won't feel it so much when you are accustomed to it," said James.

Anything seemed to him better than a day's ploughing: even getting up
at three in the morning to go to a fair.

He went to bed early, as he used to, and they talked of him over the
fire, as they used to. But however much they talked, they never seemed
to find what they were seeking--his vocation--until one evening an idea
suddenly rose out of their talk.

"A good wife is the only thing for Peter," said Pat.

And they went on thinking.

"A husband would be better for her," said Pat Phelan, "than a convent."

"I cannot say I agree with you there. Think of all the good them nuns
are doing."

"She isn't a nun yet," said Pat Phelan