―Sargent!

―Run on, Stephen said. Mr Deasy is calling you.

He stood in the porch and watched the laggard hurry towards the scrappy field where sharp voices were in strife. They were sorted in teams and Mr Deasy came stepping over wisps of grass with gaitered feet. When he had reached the schoolhouse voices again contending called to him. He turned his angry white moustache.

―What is it now? he cried continually without listening.

―Cochrane and Halliday are on the same side, sir, Stephen cried.

―Will you wait in my study for a moment, Mr Deasy said, till I restore order here.