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“Well, ’tis this way, Robbins,” he cried roughly, “take it or leave it, an’ please yourself. I’ve made ye a fair offer, an’ more than a fair offer. I can get another man to do all the work for ten shillin’ a week—men be plenty an’ work be scarce—’tis clear loss of six shillin’ a week out o’ my own pocket, an’ if I’m willin’ to put up with it you should be content; I’ll stick to my bargain.”

“Well, I bain’t content, master,” cried Robbins, a dull fire coming into his eyes. “I’d sooner leave—I’d sooner give notice—ay, that I would.”

I be mazed; I be fair mazed

Farmer Joyce raised hands and eyes to Heaven.

“I never heard such talk from a reasonable man. If you do leave me, how be you a-goin’ to live? Who’s a-going to take you on as a new hand if you leave me? It’ll be the House, man. There, don’t talk so foolish like. Think it over an’ give me your answer on Saturday. I’ll not hear a word on’t till then. It’s never my way to be hasty. Take time, shepherd; take time. When you’ve a-thought it over you’ll find it’s not such a bad bargain.”