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He was a very miserable old man. He repaired to the farthest corner of the domain and began to cut a hedge, watching the field track. Soon Reddin appeared, and Vessons was unable to repress a chuckle. 'Rather 'im than me! he said. Reddin, having fruitlessly shouted for Vessons, took the cob round to the yard himself. Then he went in.
He thought keenly as he walked. His face took a more powerful cast it had never been a weak face at the worst and he looked a man that it would not be easy to combat. Bitter hatred of Edward possessed him, silent fury against fate, relentless determination to get Hazel whether she would or not. He had a purpose in life now. Vessons was surprised at his quick, authoritative manner.
He was of the fellowship to which comfort means little and freedom much. So was Hazel. 'Lock the door! Vessons said in a sepulchral whisper from the stairs. Hazel did so, and curled up to sleep in the creaking house, thoughtless as the white mice, defenceless as they, as little grateful to Vessons for his protection, and in as deep an ignorance of what the world could do to her if it chose.
Reddin had to go to a very important fair. He wanted Hazel to go with him, but she said she was tired, and, guessing the reason, he immediately gave in. In spite of Vessons' earnest desire to get him off, he started late. He galloped most of the way, determined to get in early. He liked coming home to tea and seeing Hazel awaiting him in the firelight.
A light appeared in the parlour. She came close up and looked in. Reddin was in the easy chair, reading the paper, a pipe in the corner of his mouth. No one else was there. 'Jack Reddin! she said. 'Hullo! He turned. 'So you've come? I thought you'd have come long ago. That was all he said. But she assured herself that he was glad she had come, because he shouted to Vessons for tea.
The wrangle continued. It was the deathless quarrel of the world and the monastery natural man and the hermit. Finally Vessons concluded on a top note. 'Well, if you take this girl's good name off'n her Suddenly something happened in Hazel's brain. It was the realization of life in relation to self. It marks the end of childhood.
He would have left them to Vessons, but Vessons always had to notch sticks when he did them, and the manual labour ensuing on any accounts running into pounds would have seriously interfered with his other work. The cheese fair accounts usually took a long time. He could be heard saying in a stupendous voice, 'One and one and one until the chant ended in, 'Drat it! what do 'em maken?
There are some things that it is necessary to believe; doubt of them means despair. Vessons was conscious that he was being generous. 'You can drink a sup of whisky if you like, he said. 'Now I'm going, afore that bird notices, or I shall never get away. The bird sat in preoccupied silence. He was probably thinking of the woods and seeded dandelions.
'If you lived at Undern you could wear them every day. 'If ifs were beans and bacon, there's few'd go clemmed, said Hazel. 'That green un's proper, like when the leaves come new, and little small roses and all. Put it on while I see what Vessons is doing. 'He's grumbling in the kitchen, seemingly, said Hazel. Vessons always grumbled.
They were not her comrades. They did not live her life. She had to live theirs. She wished she had never seen Reddin, never gone to Hunter's Spinney. Edward's house was at least peaceful. 'And what, she heard Vessons say, 'will yer lordship's Sally Virtue say? She did not hear Reddin's reply; it was fierce and low. She wondered who Sally Virtue was, but she was too tired to think much about it.
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