The Buccaneer Farmer Part 41

Osborn hesitated and Kit, seeing his frown, began to wonder whether he would send him away. Then he resumed: "Who engaged these men?"

"I don't know that they are engaged. Anyhow, if there's a difficulty about their getting paid, I'm accountable."

"Bring them to Tarnside when you have finished," Osborn answered and went off.

Kit resumed his work with savage energy. He thought Osborn did not deserve to be helped, but this did not matter much. Others would suffer unless he finished the job he had undertaken and it almost looked as if the flood would beat him. The trench from which they dug the soil they needed filled with water, the spades got slippery with rain and mud, and the horses sank in the trampled slough. Kit, however, had made his plans while he looked for help and had forgotten nothing that he might want. Hammers, drills, and a can of powder had been brought, and now and then a dull report rolled across the dale and heavy stones crashed in the quarry.

When he had stone enough he and one or two others stood on the front of the bank with the water washing round their legs while they built up the ragged blocks. The pieces were hard to fit and sometimes the rude wall broke when the men on top threw down the backing of soil. Kit tore his hand on a sharp corner, but persisted while the blood ran down his fingers and his wet clothes stuck to his skin. The others supported him well and he only stopped for breath and to wipe from his eyes the water that trickled off his soaked hat. The loaded cart, ploughing through the mire, met the other going back; the men at the quarry kept him supplied, and when he had made a foundation the bank began to rise. For all that, the beck rose almost as fast, and at noon they had not gained much on the flood. Kit was doubtful, but on the whole thought it prudent to let the men stop. They had worked hard and could not keep it up without a rest.

When they collected with their dinner cans under a dripping hedge, one remarked: "Mayhappen we'd better wait for Osborn to send cold meat and ale. I'll mak' a start with bread and cheese."

The others grinned, but Kit got up as he heard a rattle of wheels. "Don't begin just yet. Two of you go to the gate."

The men came back with a big jar and a basket, and the others gathered round when Kit took off the clean, wet cloth.

"Yon lunch niver came fra Tarnside; it's ower good and liberal," said one. "Ashness folk dinna believe in sending a half-empty jar."

When they had eaten and drunk, one or two tried to light their pipes but gave it up and they got to work again. Kit's hand hurt; it was long since he had undertaken much manual labor, and his muscles felt horribly stiff.

He knew, however, that the men needed a leader, not a superintendent, and he would not urge them to efforts he shirked. And a leader was all they needed. They had no liking for Osborn, but they were stubborn and now they had begun they meant to finish. Shovels clinked, stones rattled from the carts, and the pile of earth and rock rose faster than the flood.

In the meantime the mist got thicker and the rain swept the valley. The long gra.s.s near the trench was trodden into pulp where the turf was cut, the surface of the bank melted, and the men stumbled as they climbed it with their loads. The wheelbarrows poured down water as well as sticky soil, and Kit's clothes got stiff with mud. Despite this, he held out until, in the evening, the strengthened d.y.k.e stood high above the stream.

Then he threw down his spade and stretched his aching arms.

"I think she'll hold the water back and we can do no more," said Kit.

The others gathered up their tools and climbing into the carts drove down the dale. When they reached the Tarnside lodge Kit pulled up.

"You have done a good job for Osborn and there's no reason you shouldn't get your pay," he said.

Two or three jumped down, without much enthusiasm, and the old gardener came out and gave one an envelope.

"For Mr. Askew," he remarked.

"Is that all?" the other asked, and the gardener grinned.

"That's all. What did you expect?"

The man took the envelope to Kit and the rest waited with some curiosity.

They were very tired and big drops fell on them as the wind shook the dripping trees. Kit opened the envelope and his face flushed as he took out a note addressed to Hayes.

"Pay C. Askew and the men whose names follow one day's wages, on estate account," it ran.

This was all and the sum noted at the bottom represented the lowest payment for unskilled labor. Kit handed the note to his companions and while some laughed ironically two or three swore.

"Next time beck's in flood Osborn can mend his d.y.k.e himsel'," said one.

"If five minutes' digging wad save Tarnside Hall, I'd sooner lose my hay than stir a hand!"

Then they got into the carts, and drove off in the rain.

CHAPTER V

KIT TELLS A STORY

The rain stopped at night, the next day was fine, and in the afternoon Kit went up the dale to look at the mended d.y.k.e. It had stood better than he had thought, the beck was falling, and Osborn's fields were safe until another flood came down. Kit did not know if he was pleased or not. There was some satisfaction in feeling that he had done a good job, but he did not think Osborn deserved the help his neighbors had given.

Following the d.y.k.e until he came to the road, he sat down on the bridge and lighted his pipe.

The sun was hot and he was glad of the shade of a big alder whose leaves rustled languidly overhead. The bent-gra.s.s on the hillside shone a warm yellow, wet rocks glittered like silver in the strong light, and the higher slopes, where belts of green moss checkered the heather, were streaked by lines of snowy foam. All was very quiet, except for the noise of running water and the joyous notes of a lark. Kit was not much of a philosopher; action was easier to him than abstract thought, but he vaguely felt that the serenity of the dale was marred by human pa.s.sion.

Man was, no doubt, meant to struggle, but Nature was his proper antagonist, and while the fight against floods and snow was bracing, one gained nothing by shabby quarrels that sprang from pride and greed.

Kit was human, however, and owned that he had felt savage when he read Osborn's note. The fellow had meant to humiliate him, and he got hot again as he thought about it. Moreover, Osborn had, so to speak, for his sake, insulted the men he had persuaded to help. They had not worked for wages, when they fought the swollen beck, and some kindly acknowledgment, such as a supper at the hall, would have gone far to gain for Osborn a good will that money could not buy. Anyhow, since he offered pay, the sum ought to have been a just reward for their toil.

Osborn had been led by personal rancor, and there was no use in Kit's pretending he did not resent it. The fellow seemed to think he had a right to command, and got savage when people would not obey. Kit felt he had done nothing to deserve his hatred, but since Osborn did hate him, he must brace himself for a struggle, and he meant to win. Then, as he knocked out his pipe, he saw Grace.

For a few moments Kit hesitated. If Grace knew how Osborn had rewarded him, the meeting might be awkward, but there was nothing to be gained by putting it off. He meant to marry Grace, whether Osborn approved or not, and to some extent frankness was needful. He waited until she reached the bridge and got up when she stopped. There was some color in her face, but she gave him a steady look.

"I have been to see the mended d.y.k.e," she said, and he knew that she had pluck.

"It's a rough job. There was no time to finish it neatly."

"I'm surprised you were able to finish it at all."

"I mustn't claim all the credit," Kit rejoined, smiling. "There were a number of others as well as the Tarnside men."

Grace made an impatient gesture. "Our men could have done nothing useful if they had been left alone, and the others wouldn't have helped if you had not persuaded them. Why did you?"

"To some extent, my object was selfish. If the flood had broken through, it might have done much damage to all the crops, besides your father's."

"It could not have damaged yours."

"Oh, well," said Kit, "I hate to see things spoiled, and am afraid I'm meddlesome."

Grace's color rose, but she fixed her eyes on him. "That is not kind; I hardly think it's just. I have not accused you of meddling."

"No," said Kit; "I'm sorry! It was a stupid remark. But I expect you know what your father thinks."

Grace was silent for a few moments. She did know and would rather not have met Kit, but was too proud to turn back. Besides, she felt her father was prejudiced, and although it was a family tradition that the Osborns stood together, she rebelled and wanted to be just. The situation was embarra.s.sing, but there was no use in pretense.

"I think you were generous and imagine my mother agrees," she said. "She wanted to send some lunch to the beck, but the rain was very heavy and there was n.o.body to go." Then, remembering something Osborn had said, she hesitated. "I understand your helpers were paid."

"Oh, yes," said Kit, not with malice, but because he saw he must be frank. "I was not left out."

Grace turned her head. This was worse than she had thought. She was angry, and would not let Kit think she approved. Her eyes sparkled as she looked up. "Ah," she said, "you deserved something very different! I wish you had not told me!"

"I didn't tell you because I was hurt," Kit replied with grave quietness. "It looks as if we had got to face things. Your father thinks me his enemy. I'm not; I have never tried to injure him, and if the d.y.k.e was threatened by another flood, I believe I'd mend it. But, whatever happens, I mean to do what I think proper, and it's possible we may clash again."