sir thomas tyrwhitt loudly applauded the decision to which his guest had come, for it was the knight's conviction that dartmoor's high places offered health, work, and reward to all men. himself a friend of the prince regent, he commanded attention from other personages also, and his own estates by the new settlement of prince town grew rapidly; his own enterprises awoke a sanguine spirit in others.

three days after the thunderstorm, mr. malherb sat with the high bailiff of dartmoor at the duchy of cornwall office; and, such was his impetuous energy, that within two months the walls of fox tor farm began to rise. from lew trenchard came the slates (a circumstance that set men wondering, for reed thatch covered most heads upon the moor in those days); and teams of a dozen oxen struggled over the waste, dragging sledges laden with stone. roads there were none, and no wheeled vehicle had ever entered that wild valley. malherb took up his temporary residence at an ancient tenement farm within five miles of his land, and daily he rode to the scene of action, planned and plotted, ordered and countermanded, now entered upon passing periods of doubt, now threw aside his dilemmas and turned to problems more easy of solution.

in the placid homestead beside exe awoke stir and bustle too, for the farm on the moor was now progressing rapidly, and annabel malherb and her daughter grace had learnt that their new dwelling was to be ready within a year—a time quite short in those leisurely days for the transference of a home. mother and daughter contemplated the great change brooding over their existence, with lively hopes and fears. the enterprise loomed tremendous to their simple minds; but both trusted the master in their hearts, if at times their heads whispered treachery.

the wife was of an ancient pattern, and set high religious significance on marriage vows; the child loved her stormy father, and bravely stood for him in the face of a critical and unsympathetic world. to malherb's faults these women blinded themselves; his virtues they sang at all seasons. from carew stock the matron sprang, and her noble blood, her steadfastness of view, her large trust in the goodness of divine purpose, was all her dowry, for wealth she had none. grace malherb resembled her mother in mind and bearing. she was a simple, generous-hearted maiden, and her life had passed without storm or stress. she moved in the scented devon lanes; she gathered the eglantine and wild roses in spring, at autumn plucked the scarlet corals of the iris or those glimmering green mosses that made fair vestment for the red earth. but now her eyes were lifted to dartmoor, where its hills rose shadowy across the western sky; and awe and wonder widened the limits of her mind, and mystery awoke in dreams and added beauty to her face.

the imperious farmer had a whim to keep his wife and daughter away from their future home until it should be ready to receive them; and since they were wholly ignorant of the great table-land, the contrast between fox tor with its adjacencies and the meadow farm by exe was destined to come upon both women with a force almost bewildering. even to the thin voices of the labouring men, their chastened outlook upon life and their estimate of happiness, all was changed.

the attitude of annabel and grace malherb upon this radical transformation will appear. from agricultural failure and depression in the valleys they were at least well contented to escape.

on an autumn day they walked and talked together upon a meadow path by the river. maurice malherb was returning from the moor for a while to look after his business, and here his wife and daughter waited for him.

"that your father has built a house is well," declared mrs. malherb, "for, come what may to his many projects, an abiding place of our own will be a source of peace to me."

"and no more coal bills!" cried grace. "father has said that we shall dig our coal out of the earth within sight of home."

"'tis peat he means—a very good form of warmth—yet i doubt for the cooking."

"barbara would have made shift with it. oh, mother, what shall we do without her?"

"i cannot guess yet."

"to think of all new servants—all new—but that horrid old kek!"

mrs. malherb smiled.

"kekewich is a sort of skeleton at life's feast. the sour truth and nothing but the truth he utters. yet truth's a tonic, and your father knows it."

"truth is often very impertinent—especially as kek tells it. if any other man spoke to father as he does, he would soon be measuring his length on the ground."

"it shows my husband's marvellous judgment that kekewich never angers him."

"to me the man is merely a piece of earth animated. such stuff would never have grown a good cabbage, so some wicked fairy took it and made kek. i'm sure he'll be a wet blanket on hope, and, according to father, the mists are wet blankets enough up there."

"kekewich suffers much pain of body, and it makes him harsh. he is an honest man, and your father gets good out of him. that is enough for us. he is at least the soul of common sense."

but grace shook her head.

"'tis no more common sense to look always on the dark side of things than, like dear father, to be over-hopeful."

"the golden mean——" murmured her mother.

"rainbow gold," answered the girl. "human nature cannot find it. what——? but here comes kek himself. he looks spry and peart for once. that bodes trouble for somebody."

a gate opened upon the path, and in the red-gold light of evening a man approached them. the ruddy earth had dyed his garments to its rich hue, had soaked into his clothes and body. he seemed incarnate clay. his frame had crooked, his hair was grizzled. his mouth was like the stamp of a gouge upon putty, and at first glance a grin appeared to sit upon his face; but, better seen, one noted that the distortion was accidental, and that in reality his features were stamped with the eternal sadness of suffering.

"three barrow pigs be just drownded," he said. "i seed 'em fighting in the water; then they went down an' comed up again, an' squeaked proper till the river chucked 'em. 'tis always what i said would happen."

"where was bob?" asked grace, with much concern. "the blame will fall upon him."

"so it will, but that won't bring the pigs alive again; though they'll do very well for common people to eat if we can get 'em ashore inside twenty-four hours."

the sound of a horse's hoofs broke upon the silence that followed this bad news. then maurice malherb appeared, dismounted, kissed his wife and daughter, and nodded to the servant.

"all goes forward most prosperously," he said. "since i promised the foreman ten pounds if the chimney-pots were on by christmas, the place grows like honeycomb in june."

"why, 'twas to be finished by then in any case, according to contract, my dear!"

"true; but you know what these people are."

"you be one as would pay for honesty an' make it marketable, 'tis a wrong way, an' don't do the world no good," grumbled kekewich.

"we must oil the wheels of progress, kek," said his master. "i want to begin. i want to fight next winter up there."

"best way to fight dartmoor winters be to flee from 'em," answered the old man.

"nay, nay—that's a coward's policy. i'm going to do things on dartmoor that never have been done yet. i've not farmed here all these years for nothing."

"no, by gor! you've not."

annabel malherb and grace now turned homeward, and the farmer walked slowly beside kekewich.

"up aloft they make a great many mistakes. i mean the folk of the moor. but to see error is to avoid it with a man of sense. and i've let the people find out already that they will have a powerful friend in me. i learn from them what to do, as well as what not to do. we shall want all kinds to help us. i believe in a big staff on a farm—especially a grazing farm. the old, the strong, the young—light work for the men that are three score and ten, and worn with a life of labour, though useful yet. and none shall have tail corn, as too often happens up there, for who can do man's work on pig's food? and my cider shall be cider, as it always has been—not the vinegar they call cider on dartmoor."

"'ess—you'll make the place a hospital for them past work—same as this be."

"not i. but i'll keep self-respect in my people. the women shall have sixpence a day out of doors. the labourer is worthy of her hire."

"you'll never learn sense. you comed in the world to waste money, not to make it, as i've always told 'e. sixpence a day for females! what next?"

"'cast thy bread on the waters.' i'm a working christian, and a lesson to you, heathen that you are."

"a working christian ban't no better for being a fool. what's the sense of casting your bread 'pon the water while your wife an' maiden be hungry upon the shore?"

"hungry! you're mad!"

"'twill come to hunger. you'd spoil any market—a very good, open-hearted gentleman, us all knows; but sixpence a day for outdoor females! 'tis all summed up in that. there ban't a outdoor woman in the world worth more'n fourpence."

"ask their husbands. you're an old bachelor."

"'ess—thank god!"

"some sloes there are that even winter will never sweeten; and you are such a one. how fares the rheumatism?"

"a sleeping dog for the minute. he was gnawing his bone proper last week though. maybe dartymoor will lessen my pangs."

"i hope so with all my heart. 'tis the least it can do for you, seeing how much you are going to do for it. such men as you are greatly wanted there."

"such men as me take blamed good care to bide down in the country—unless they've got reckless masters," said kekewich.

then he took malherb's horse and departed, while anon the farmer discoursed very learnedly to his wife concerning dartmoor. but his knowledge was borrowed; his enthusiasm was no substitute for personal experience. sir thomas tyrwhitt loved the moor like a mistress. to her faults he was blind; and he had now inspired his friend with kindred ardour.

"i long to begin looking for men, but 'tis too soon yet," malherb declared. "in a few months, however, i shall have work for half a dozen."

"and a dairymaid, remember, since you design a complete change, and will not keep our annie," said mrs. malherb.

"yes, the women understand calves and cows wonderfully well up there. such sheds as i am building—like the cloisters of a cathedral! but stock on dartmoor in winter needs snug houses and generous treatment."

the women caught his mood, and prattled as though they already saw prosperity beckoning out of the future.

"after the war 'twill all go well, i pray," said mrs. malherb. "all human affairs languish just now; but when the war is ended and noel comes home—— peter norcot, from the woollen factory at chagford, was here in doleful dumps yesterday. the east indian company, who is their first customer——"

"did you see him, grace?" interrupted maurice.

the girl blushed and shook her head, whereupon her father's face grew dark.

"for another year you shall have your way, miss. then—— i have said it. then comes the pinch, and somebody will have to learn the duty of a child to its parent."

"i'll not marry with peter—never," she said quietly. "he's no man—a mere walking, talking chatterbox—a packman, with nonsensical rags and tags of rhymes and jests for his stock-in-trade. he would drive me mad with his borrowed wit."

"we shall see," said malherb. "his wit may be borrowed; his wealth is his own. now go you and get a bottle of the burgundy. we'll not argue—we love one another too dearly."

but though he spoke calmly, his mood changed, and the infernal temper that cursed his life, and lurked in his warm, big heart like a wasp in a rose, broke forth. he heard the dismal tale of the drowned pigs, dashed out of doors with his horsewhip, and roared for the lad robert. when grace returned with his wine, her father had disappeared; her mother, grown white and careworn suddenly, stood by the window.

shrieks echoed through the autumn gloaming and rang against the walls of the farm; while, round a corner, the unfortunate youth whose errors were responsible for his master's loss lifted up a bitter voice and yelled for mercy under the lash.

"that'll teach you, you idle scoundrel! if you'd been drowned, none would have cared a curse. but my pigs—there, and there, and there; and never show your ugly face to me again, or i'll——"

bob fled howling, and through a night of smart and sleeplessness wriggled in much misery. but only the present suffering of his back troubled him, for he knew what day would bring as surely as it brought the sun.

he met his master going the rounds before breakfast, and touched his hat and fell into a great simulated lameness; whereon malherb gave him "good morning" and threw him a shilling.

"mind the pigs closer henceforth, you vagabond," he said; then added to himself as he saw the boy's rueful countenance, "and i will mind my temper closer, please god."

kekewich appeared from a barn as the shilling was picked up.

"ah," he said, when bob had departed, "usual way. even the misfortune of they pigs have cost 'e a coin more'n there was any call to pay."