ou
are not a friend of my agent's and no doubt see a chance of making
trouble. When you meddle with my tenants you play a risky game, and they
may find they were foolish to join you."

One of the farmers who had stood quietly by Peter Askew looked up with a
slow smile; another's weather-beaten face got a little harder. They were
seldom noisily quarrelsome, but they were stubborn and remembered an
injury long. Peter, however, interposed:

"We won't fratch; there's not much in arguing. You can beat moor t'ither
side o' green road. Good day to you!"

He spoke to the horses and the sledge lurched forward with its
chocolate-colored load. The other teams strained at the chains; there was
a beat of hoofs, and the row of sledges moved noisily away. Osborn waited
for a few moments, but his face was very red when he went back to the
butts. The farmer's refusal to dispute with him was galling. For all
that, he must try to find his friends some sport, and after consulting
with his gamekeeper sent the beaters on across the moor.

The new drive was not successful, and in the evening the party came down
the hill with a very poor bag. When they reached the Redmire wood Osborn
stopped beside a broken hedge. Red beeches shone among the yellow birches
and dark firs, the sun was low and its slanting rays touched the higher
branches, but the gaps between the trunks were filled with shadow. A few
bent figures moved in the gloom, and Osborn frowned when three or four
children came down a drive, dragging a heavy fallen bough. An elderly
woman with a sack upon her back followed them slowly, and it was obvious
that cottagers from Allerby were gathering fuel.

"Confound them! This is too much!" he exclaimed and beckoned his
gamekeeper. "If that is Mrs. Forsyth, tell her to come up."

The woman advanced and rested her sack upon the hedge. Her wrinkled face
was wet with sweat, but she did not look alarmed.

"Eh!" she said, "sticks is heavy and I'm none so young as I was."

"You have no business in the wood," said Osborn sternly.

"There's nea place else where we can pick up sticks."

"That is your affair. You know you're not allowed to gather wood in my
plantations."

"We canna gan withoot some kindling; when you canna keep it dry, peat is
ill to light. Terrible messy stuff, too, and mak's nea end o' dirt."

The children came up and when they stood, open-mouthed, gazing at the
party one of the sportsmen laughed.

"Then burn coal and