winter afield for taking that nonsense out o’ young wenches’ heads; and you’ve signed and agreed till Lady-Day. Now, are you going to beg my pardon?”
“I think you ought to beg mine.”
“Very well—as you like. But we’ll see which is master here. Be they all the sheaves you’ve done today?”
“Yes, sir.”
“ ’Tis a very poor show. Just see what they’ve done over there” (pointing to the two stalwart women). “The rest, too, have done better than you.”
“They’ve all practised it before, and I have not. And I thought it made no difference to you as it is task work, and we are only paid for what we do.”
“Oh, but it does. I want the barn cleared.”
“I am going to work all the afternoon instead of leaving at two as the others will do.”
He looked sullenly at her and went away. Tess felt that she could not have come to a much worse place; but anything was better than gallantry. When two o’clock arrived the professional reed-drawers tossed off the last half-pint in their flagon, put down their hooks, tied their last sheaves, and went away. Marian and Izz would have done likewise, but on hearing that Tess meant to stay, to make up by longer hours for her lack of skill, they would not leave her. Looking out at the snow, which still fell, Marian exclaimed, “Now, we’ve got it all to ourselves.” And so at last the conversation turned to their old experiences at the dairy; and, of course, the incidents of their affection for Angel Clare.
“Izz and Marian,” said Mrs. Angel Clare, with a dignity which was extremely touching, seeing how very little of a wife she was: “I can’t join