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Vogwell gazed sternly about him, then fixed his little bright eyes on the culprit. "What do this mean, Will Blanchard?" "Well, why not? Duchy steals all the gude land from Venwell men; why for shouldn't us taake a little of the bad? This here weern't no gude to man or mouse. Ban't 'nough green stuff for a rabbit 'pon it. So I just thought I'd give it a lick an' a promise o' more later on."
Vogwell was still observing him, he ostentatiously turned to the cart and tipped up his load of earth. But when the representative of power had disappeared his horse and himself apparently sinking into rather than behind a heather ridge Will's energy died and his mood changed. He had fooled himself about this enterprise until the present, but he could no longer do so.
His long beard fluttered in the wind, and Will heard the thud of his horse's hoofs as he cantered quickly to the scene, passed between two of the stakes, and drew up alongside Blanchard. "Marnin', Mr. Vogwell! Fine weather, to be sure, an' gude for the peat next month; but bad for roots, an' no mistake. Will 'e have a drink?" Mr.
Will opened a stone jar which lay under his coat at hand, and answered as he poured cider into a horn mug for Mr. Vogwell "Here's your drink; but I won't take your orders, so I tell 'e. Damn the Duchy, as steals moor an' common wheer it pleases an' then grudges a man his toil." "That's the spirit as'll land 'e in the poorhouse, Will Blanchard," said Mr.
Vogwell calmly; "and that's such a job as might send 'e to the County Asylum," he added, pointing to the operations around him. "As to damning Duchy," he continued, "you might as well damn the sun or moon. They'd care as little. Theer 'm some varmints so small that, though they bite 'e with all their might, you never knaw it; an' so 't is wi' you an' Duchy. Mind now, a fortnight.
He held the tailboard of the cart in his hand and was about to remove it; when, looking up, his heart fluttered a moment despite his sturdy consciousness of right. On the moor above him rode grey old Vogwell, the Duchy's man.
"'A lick an' a promise'! You've wasted a month's work on it, to the least." "Well, p'raps I have though ban't wasted. Do 'e think, Mr. Vogwell, as the Duchy might be disposed to give me a hand?" Will generally tackled difficulties in this audacious fashion, and a laugh already began to brighten his eye; but the other quenched it. "You fool!
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