The young hops were now well above ground, and exposed to the perils of blight, so Reuben and Beatup were spraying them with insect-killer, badly in need of a third man to do the mixing.

"Where's Pete?" asked Reuben.

"I dunno-äun't seen un this mornun. Ah-thur he be!"

"Where?"

Cöaming up by the brook, surelye."

Reuben stared in amazement. The approaching figure undoubtedly was Pete, but a Pete so changed by circumstances and demeanour as to be almost unrecognisable. He wore his Sunday black clothes, which -as, with the exception of the funeral, he had not put them on for ten years-were something of a misfit. On his head was a black hat with a wide flapping brim, he walked with a measured step and his hands folded in front of him.

"Well," cried Reuben, calling abuse to the rescue of surprise" you hemmed lazy good-fur-nothing, you! -wud all the Glotten hay to be cut, and ten acres o' hops to be sprayed, and you go laying in bed lik a lady, and then come out all dressed as if you wur going to church. Where's your corduroys?"

"In my box-you can clöathe the naked wud 'emI'm never going to put 'em on no more.”

"I'm hemmed if I'll have you working on my farm in that foolery. You'll mäake us the laughing-stock of Peasmarsh. You've got Ebenezer on the brain, you have, and you can justabout git it off again.”

"I'm never going to do another ströake of wark on your farm as long as I live. Salvation's got me." Reuben dropped the insect-killer.

"I'm the Lord's lost lamb," announced Pete.

"The Lord's lost- !" cried his father angrily. "You täake off them blacks, and git to work lik a human being."

"I tell you I'm never going to work fur you agäun. I'm going forth to spread the Word. Salvation's got me."

"You wait till I git you, that's all," and Reuben ran at Pete.

“Kip off, or I'll slosh you one on the boko," cried the Lord's lost lamb swinging up a vigorous pair of fists. Reuben breathed a sigh of relief.

"There I knew as there wur reason in you, Pete. You wöan't go and leave your fäather lik the rest, all fur a hemmed Methody."

"Hemmed Methody! That's how you spik of the man wot's säaved my soul. I tell you as there I wur lost in trespasses and sins, and now I'm washed white as wool-there wur my evil doings sticking to my soul lik maggots to a dead rat, and now my soul's washed in the Blood of the Lamb, and I'm going out to spread the Word."

"Where are you going?"

"Unto the ends of the earth-Hastings. There's a friend of Ades there wot'll guide me into the Spirit's ways."

"But you'll never leave me at the time of the hay-harvest, and Emily due to calve in another month?"

"I tell you I'm shut of your farm-it's wot's led me astray from a lad. Instead of settin' and reading godly books and singing wud the saints I've gone and ploughed furrers and carted manure; I've thought only of the things of the flesh, I've walked lik accursed Adam among the thistles. But now a Voice says, 'work no more-go and spread the Word!' And if you're wise, fäather, you'll cöame too, and you, Beatup. You'll flee from the wrath to cöame, when He shall shäake the earth and the elimunts shall dissolve in fervient heat, and He . . ."

Have adone do wud your preaching. I'm ashamed

of you, led astray by lunies as if you wur no better nor poor Harry. You're a hemmed lousy traitor, you are, the worst of 'em all."

"I'm only fleeing from the wrath to cöame-and if you're wise you'll foller me. This farm is the city of destruction, I tell you, it's a snare of the devil, it's Naboth's vineyard, it's the lake that burneth wud fire and brimstone. Cöame out of her, cöame out of her, my peoples!"

Reuben was paralysed. His jaw worked convulsively, and he looked at Pete as if he were a specially new and pestilential form of blight.

"Save yourself, fäather," continued the evangelist, "and give up all the vain desires of the flesh. Is this a time to buy olive-yards and vineyards? Beware lest there cöame upon you as it did to him wot purchaised a field, the reward of inquiety, and falling headlong he bust asunder in the midst and his bowels goshed out"

But Reuben had found his voice.

'Git out of this!" he shouted. “I wöan't stand here and listen to you miscalling the farm wot's bred you and fed you over thirty year. Git out, and never think you'll come back again. I'm shut of you. I döan't want no more of you-I'm out of the wood now, I've got all the work out of you I've needed, so you can go, and spread your hemmed Word, and be hemmed. I'm shut of you."

Pete fixed upon his father a gaze meant to inspire the utmost terrors of conscience, then turned on his heel and slowly walked away.

The sight of his broad black back disappearing among the hop-bines was too much for Reuben. He picked up the can of insect-killer and hurled it after his son, splashing his respectability from head to foot with the stinking fluid. Pete flung round with his fists up, then suddenly dropped them and raised his eyes instead.

1

You wudn't daur do that if I hadn't been saved! he shouted.

"

Then he walked off, beautiful of soul no doubt, but highly unpleasant of body.

T

BOOK VII

THE END IN SIGHT

§ I.

HE next five years were comparatively uneventful. All that stood out of them was the steady progress of the farm. It fattened, it grew, it crept up Boarzell as the slow tides softly flood a rock.

Reuben was now alone at Odiam with his two small children and Harry. David and Bill, unlike their predecessors, did not start their career as farm-hands till well past babyhood. Reuben no longer economised in labour-he had nearly a dozen men in regular employ, to say nothing of casuals. Sometimes he thought regretfully of the stalwart sons who were to have worked for him, to have run the farm without any outside help

.. but that dream belonged to bygone days, and he resolutely put it from him. After all, his posse of farmhands was the envy of the neighbourhood; no one in Peasmarsh employed so many.

Reuben himself was still able for a great deal of work. Though over sixty, he still had much of the vigour, as he had all the straightness, of his youth. Work had not bent him and crippled him, as it had crippled Beatup, his junior by several years. The furnace of his pride and resolution seemed to have dried the damps steamed up by the earth from her revengeful wounds, so that rheumatism-the plague of the labourer on the soilhad done no worse for him than shooting pains in the winter with a slight thickening of his joints.