haps telling them that their new neighbour had refused to be introduced. . . . Well, he did not care. He would meet the Jerrolds; but not through Hobbs.
As he neared the house, he overtook a man on foot, driving a team of yellow-maned horses, harnessed to a harrow. Two little boys ran alongside. When the man was aware of Derek he drew up his horses and turned to him with a wide, pale smile.
"I am your next-door neighbour," he said, "H. P. Chard. I daresay you've heard of me. I'm pleased to welcome you to the neighbourhood. We need more enterprising young men around here."
They shook hands. Chard's smile deepened to a grin. "I do hope you'll soon feel at home here, and be one of us. I don't know what church you belong to, but we all go together to the Methodist Church at Mistwell. You'll get a hearty welcome there."
"Thanks. Are those your boys?"
"Yes. I've four boys, and four girls. And they all look alike."
Derek, observing the dingy tow heads of the youngsters, and their broad, pasty faces, of which the nostrils seemed the only noticeable feature, thought it a pity, but he said:
"They look lively."
"They are. And they're all trained to help as soon as they're able. We're great workers, Mr. Vale. And I must be moving on now. It's near dinner-time. Good day."
Derek watched his figure in soiled khaki shirt and trousers move away, with a strong feeling of distaste for the man.
As he sat at his midday dinner he suddenly remembered the harrow, and he stopped Phoebe as she was about to return to the kitchen.
