t that. But it's too bad for you, Nedda. I don't like it; I don't
like it."

"I can't be parted from him, Dad. That's impossible."

Felix was silenced by the vigor of those words.

"His mother can help, perhaps," he said.

Ah! If his mother would help--send him away from the laborers, and all
this!

Up from the station they took the field paths, which cut off quite a
mile. The grass and woods were shining brightly, peacefully in the sun;
it seemed incredible that there should be heartburnings about a land so
smiling, that wrongs and miseries should haunt those who lived and worked
in these bright fields. Surely in this earthly paradise the dwellers
were enviable, well-nourished souls, sleek and happy as the pied cattle
that lifted their inquisitive muzzles! Nedda tried to stroke the nose of
one--grayish, blunt, 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
su