XVI
The Heart of the Pagan
As a matter of fact," said young Holt, "I was coming up to your place if I had not seen you. We are most desperately short of men this harvest, and my father thought that perhaps you could lend him one or two until you started cutting your oats."
Andrew Garstang, senior, the burly, shrewd, independent yeoman of Stonecroft Farm, leaning over one of his field gates, looked at Andrew Garstang, junior, who stood in the road by his horse's side. Both were amused so much that half a minute passed before either made reply.
"Why, Harold," said the younger Andrew, "where do you think I've been to get my horse in this state? Scouring the whole countryside for five blessed hours trying to pick up a few tramps or dead-beats to make shift with ourselves."
"And what have you done?" asked Harold with interest.
"Got hungry, that's all. And now I'm going up to have my tea. You may as well come with us, Harold."
"I should much like to," said Harold, with every appearance of sincerity, "but I must go somewhere else, if only to make a decent show."
The two Garstangs had already turned away, when along the road a strange and unfamiliar figure was seen approaching.
"What outlandish kind of foreigner is that, now?" demanded the farmer, staring down the road.
237
