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Steer, who after all prized his reputation in the parish, jerked the reins and pulled in to the hedge. And the schoolmistress, without more ado, led Bowden’s mare past, foot by foot. The wheels scraped, both carts jolted slightly; the two farmers’ faces, so close together, moved no muscle, but when the carts had drawn clear, each, as if by agreement, expectorated to his right. The schoolmistress loosed the head of Bowden’s mare and said:

“You ought to be ashamed of yourselves, Mr. Bowden; you and Mr. Steer.”

“How’s that?” said Bowden.

“How’s that indeed? Everybody knows the state of things between you. No good can come of it. In war-time too, when we ought all to be united. Why can’t you shake hands and be friends?”

Bowden laughed.

“Shake ’ands with that chap? I’d suner shake ’ands with a dead pig. Let ’im get my son back out o’ the Army.”

The schoolmistress looked up at him.

“And I hope you’re going to look after that poor girl when her time comes,” she said.

Bowden nodded.

“Never fear! I’d suner the child was hers than that niece of Steer’s.”