The church of timber and brick, put up anyhow on older stone foundations, had warped and cracked; the windows leaned, fungus growths sprouted about the bases of the timbers. Every rib showed in the roof as on the side of a horse led to the knackers.
The farm was but little more prosperous in appearance than the church. Patched windows and broken railings showed a state of decline. Mehalah walked into the yard, where she saw a man carrying a pitchfork.
"Who is the master here?" she asked.
"I am."
"Is there a mistress?"
" Yes. What have you to say to her?"
Mehalah told her story as she had told it to the landlady of the Rising Sun. "I will work for my keep and that of my mother, and work harder than any man on your farm."
"Where do you come from?"
"Red Hall."
"Oh!" said the farmer, with a whistle, "Rebow's girl, eh?"
"I am working for him now."
"Working for him, come now, that's fine."
"I am working for him," repeated Mehalah with clouding brow.
"And you want to come here. You think my missus would let you, do you? Now tell me, what put you on to coming to me? Has Elijah picked a quarrel with me, that he sends you here? Does he want occasion against me? Do you think I want to run any risks with my barns and my cattle and my life? No, thank you. I dursn't do it."
"Tell me, where can I find work?
"You must go out of the reach of Rebow's arm, if you find it."
"You won't give me any?"
He shook his head. "For my life, I dursn't do it." He laughed and put out his hand to chuck her under the chin, she struck his fingers up with her fist. "There ain't a better judge of beasts in all the marshes than Rebow, nor in horse-flesh neither. You ain't a bad bit of meat neither. I approve his taste."
Mehalah wrenched the pitchfork out of his hand. Her
