Joanna Godden | Page 8

cobble-stones. The men were up--they
should have been up an hour now--but no sounds of activity came from

the barns. The yard was in stillness, a little mist floating against the
walls, and the pervading greyness of the morning seemed to be lit up by
the huge blotches of yellow lichen that covered the slated roofs of barns
and dwelling--the roofs were all new, having only for a year or two
superseded the old roofs of osier thatch, but that queer golden rust had
almost hidden their substance, covering them as it covered everything
that was left exposed to the salt-thick marsh air.
Joanna stood in the middle of the yard looking keenly round her like a
cat, then like a cat she pounced. The interior of the latest built barn was
dimly lit by a couple of windows under the roof--the light was just
enough to show inside the doorway five motionless figures, seated
about on the root-pile and the root-slicing machine. They were Joanna's
five farm-men, apparently wrapped in a trance, from which her voice
unpleasantly awoke them.
"Here, you--what d'you think you're doing?"
The five figures stiffened with perceptible indignation, but they did not
rise from their sitting posture as their mistress advanced--or rather
swooped--into their midst. Joanna did not expect this. She paid a man
fifteen shillings a week for his labour and made no impossible demands
of his prejudices and private habits.
"I've been up an hour," she said, looking round on them, "and here I
find all of you sitting like a lot of sacks."
"It's two hours since I've bin out o' my warm bed," said old Stuppeny
reproachfully.
"You'd be as much use in it as out, if this is how you spend your time.
No one's been to the pigs yet, and it wants but half an hour to milking."
"We wur setting around for Grace Wickens to bring us out our tea,"
said Broadhurst.
"You thought maybe she wouldn't know her way across the yard if you
was on the other side of it? The tea ain't ready yet--I tell you I haven't

had any. It's a fine sight to see a lot of strong, upstanding men lolling
around waiting for a cup of tea."
The scorn in Joanna's voice was withering, and a resentful grumble
arose, amidst which old Stuppeny's dedication of himself to a new
sphere was hoarsely discernible. However the men scrambled to their
feet and tramped off in various directions; Joanna stopped Fuller, the
shepherd, as he went by.
"You'll be taking the wethers to Lydd this morning?"
"Surelye."
"How many are you taking?"
"Maybe two score."
"You can take the lot. It'll save us their grazing money this winter, and
we can start fattening the tegs in the spring."
"There's but two score wethers fit for market."
"How d'you mean?"
"The others äun't fatted präaperly."
"Nonsense--you know we never give 'em cake or turnips, so what does
it matter?"
"They äun't fit."
"I tell you they'll do well enough. I don't expect to get such prices for
them as for that lot you've kept down in the New Innings, but they
won't fetch much under, for I declare they're good meat. If we keep
them over the winter we'll have to send them inland and pay no end for
their grazing--and then maybe the price of mutton ull go down in the
Spring."
"It ud be a fool's job to täake them."

"You say that because you don't want to have to fetch them up from the
Salt Innings. I tell you you're getting lazy, Fuller."
"My old mäaster never called me that."
"Well, you work as well for me as you did for him, and I won't call you
lazy, neither."
She gave him a conciliatory grin, but Fuller had been too deeply
wounded for such easy balm. He turned and walked away, a whole
speech written in the rebellious hunch of his shoulders.
"You'll get them beasts," she called after him.
"Surelye"--came in a protesting drawl. Then "Yup!--Yup!" to the two
sheep dogs couched on the doorstep.

§6
What with supervising the work and herding slackers, getting her
breakfast and packing off Ellen to the little school she went to at Rye,
Joanna found all too soon that the market hour was upon her. It did not
strike her to shirk this part of a farmer's duty--she would drive into Rye
and into Lydd and into Romney as her father had always driven,
inspecting beasts and watching prices. Soon after ten o'clock she ran
upstairs to make herself splendid, as the occasion required.
By this time the morning had lifted itself out of the mist. Great sheets
of blue covered the sky and were mirrored in the dykes--there was a
soft golden glow about the