The only part of the farm that was not doing well was Grandturzel. The new ground had been licked into shape under Reuben\'s personal supervision, but the land round the steading, which had been under cultivation for three hundred years, yielded only feeble crops and shoddy harvests—things went wrong, animals died, accidents happened.

Realf had never been a practical man—perhaps it was to that he owed his downfall. Good luck and ambition had made him soar for a while, but he lacked the dogged qualities which had enabled Reuben to play[Pg 435] for years a losing game. Besides, he had to a certain extent lost interest in land which was no longer his own. He worked for a wage, for his daily bread, and the labour of his hands and head which had once been an adventure and a glory, was now nothing but the lost labour of those who rise up early and late take rest.

Also he was in bad health—his hardships and humiliations had wrought upon his body as well as his soul. He was not even the ghost of the man whose splendid swaggering youth had long ago in Peasmarsh church first made the middle-aged Reuben count his years. He stooped, suffered horribly from rheumatism, had lost most of his hair, and complained of his eyesight.

Reuben began to fidget about Grandturzel. He told his son-in-law that if things did not improve he would have to go. In vain Realf pleaded bad weather and bad luck—neither of them was ever admitted as an excuse at Odiam.

The hay-harvest of 1904 was a good one—of course Realf\'s hay had too much sorrel in it, there was always something wrong with Realf\'s crops—but generally speaking the yield was plentiful and of good quality. Reuben rejoiced to feel the soft June sun on his back, and went out into the fields with his men, himself driving for some hours the horse-rake over the swathes, and drinking at noon his pint of beer in the shade of the waggon. In the evening the big hay-elevator hummed at Odiam, and old Backfield stood and watched it piling the greeny-brown ricks till darkness fell, and he went in to supper and the sleep of his old age.

It took about a week to finish the work—on the last day the fields which for so long had shown the wind\'s path in tawny ripples, were shaven close and green, scattering a sweet steam into the air—a soft pungency that stole up to the house at night and lapped it round with fragrance. Old Reuben stretched himself contentedly as he went into his dim room and prepared to[Pg 436] lie down. The darkness had hardly settled on the fields—a high white light was in the sky, among the stars.

He went to bed early with the birds and beasts. Before he climbed into the bed, lying broad and white and dim in the background of the candleless room, he opened the window, to drink in the scent of his land as it fell asleep. The breeze whiffled in the orchard, fluttering the boughs where the young green apples hid under the leaves, there was a dull sound of stamping in the barns ... he could see the long line of his new haycocks beyond the yard, soft dark shapes in the twilight.

He was just going to turn back into the room, his limbs aching pleasantly for the sheets, when he noticed a faint glow in the sky to southward. At first he thought it was a shred of sunset still burning, then realised it was too far south for June—also it seemed to flicker in the wind. Then suddenly it spread itself into a fan, and cast up a shower of sparks.

The next minute Reuben had pulled on his trousers and was out in the passage, shouting "Fire!"

The farm men came tumbling from the attics—"Whur, m?aster?"

"Over at Grandturzel—can\'t see wot\'s burning from here. Git buckets and come!"

Shouts and gunshots brought those men who slept out in the cottages, and a half-dressed gang, old Reuben at the head, pounded through the misty hay-sweet night to where the flames were spreading in the sky. From the shoulder of Boarzell they could see what was burning—Realf\'s new-made stacks, two already aflame, the others doomed by the sparks which scattered on the wind.

No one spoke, but from Realf\'s yard came sounds of shouting, the uneasy lowing and stamping of cattle, and the neigh of terrified horses. The whole place was lit up by the glare of the fire, and soon Reuben could see Realf and his two men, Dunk and Juglery, with Mrs.[Pg 437] Realf, the girls, and young Sidney, passing buckets down from the pond and pouring them on the blazing stacks—with no effect at all.

"The fools! Wot do they think they\'re a-doing of? D?an\'t they know how to put out a fire?"

He quickened his pace till his men were afraid he would "bust himself," and dashing between the burning ricks, nearly received full in the chest the bucket his son-in-law had just swung.

"Stop!" he shouted—"are your cattle out?"

"No."

"Then git \'em out, you fool! You\'ll have the whole pl?ace a bonfire in a minnut. Wot\'s the use of throwing mugs of water lik this? You\'ll never put them ricks out. S?ave your horses, s?ave your cows, s?ave your poultry. Anyone gone for the firemen?"

"Yes, I sent a boy over fust thing."

"Why didn\'t you send to me?"

"Cudn\'t spare a hand."

"Cudn\'t spare one hand to fetch over fifteen—that\'s a valiant idea. Now d?an\'t go loitering; fetch out your cattle afore they\'re roast beef, git out the horses and all the stock—and souse them ricks wot ?un\'t burning yit."

The men scurried in all directions obeying his orders. Soon terrified horses were being led blindfold into the home meadow; the cows and bullocks, less imaginative, followed more quietly. Meantime buckets were passed up from the pond to the stacks that were not alight; but before this work was begun Reuben went up to the furthest stack and thrust his hand into it—then he put in his head and sniffed. Then he called Realf.

"C?ame here."

Realf came.

"Wot\'s that?"

Realf felt the hay and sniffed like Reuben.

"Wot\'s that?" his father-in-law repeated.
 
Realf went white to the lips, and said nothing.

"I\'ll tell you wot it is, then!" cried Reuben—"it\'s bad stacking. This hay ?un\'t bin pr?aperly dried—it\'s bin stacked damp, and them ricks have gone alight o\' themselves, bust up from inside. It\'s your doing, this here is, and I\'ll m?ake you answer fur it, surelye."

"I—I—the hay seemed right enough."

"Maybe it seems right enough to you now?"—and Reuben pointed to the blazing stacks.

Realf opened his lips, but the words died on them. His eyes looked wild and haggard in the j............