On the morning after the show, Osborn walked up and down the terrace, waiting moodily for Hayes. It was a rash extravagance to buy the sheep and he blamed Kit for this. The fellow had gone on bidding in order to force him to pay a high price; besides, the money would help an object Osborn did not approve. There were enough chapels in the neighborhood and any legislation that interfered with the landlords' privileges got its warmest support at such places.

The sum he had spent was not remarkably large and he had cut his loss by selling the flock to a farmer at their market price, but this was about half what he had given and he had some urgent debts. Although he had hoped to hold out until term-day, when the payment of rents would ease the strain on his finances, he must have money and did not know where it could be got by prudent means.

In the meantime, he looked about gloomily. The weather had changed, a moist west wind drove heavy clouds across the sky and the fell-tops were hidden by mist. It threatened a wet hay-time and hay was scarce in the dale, where they generally cut it late after feeding sheep on the meadows. Osborn farmed some of his land and had hoped for a good crop, which he needed. The grass in the big meadow by the beck was long and getting ripe, but the red sorrel that grew among it had lost its bright color. The filling heads rolled in waves before the wind, but there was something dull and lifeless in the noise they made, and Osborn knew what this meant. Rain was coming and when rain began in the dale it did not stop.

His glance rested on the green embankment along the beck. His father had made the dyke at a heavy cost but in places the stones and soil had gradually washed away. If the dyke broke at one spot, the beck would return to its old channel and much damage might be done, particularly if the floods rolled across the turnip fields. Osborn had meant to strengthen the dyke, but had put it off because of the expense.

A little later Hayes came up the steps. Osborn did not ask him to sit down, although there was room on the stone bench, and the agent leaned against the terrace wall. His face was inscrutable but he remarked his employer's rudeness.

"I have seen Fisher and he is willing to take a mortgage on Ryecote," he said. "The interest is higher than I thought, but the money would pay off urgent bills and cover the cost of the farmstead repairs."

"How much does Fisher want?" Osborn asked and frowned when he was told.
"It's unjust; two per cent above the proper interest."

"I can't borrow for less. However, if we use the money judiciously, we ought to get something back by higher rents. Lang and Grey, for example, would pay a little more for the improvements they require."

Osborn pondered. He was in a suspicious mood and thought Hayes wanted to negotiate the mortgage.

"When I have satisfied the other tenants there won't be much left for Lang and Grey," he rejoined. "My experience is that the money you sink in improvements is gone for good."

"They must be made, for all that; particularly just now when a dissatisfied spirit is spreading among the farmers. Askew is showing them what can be done by the proper use of capital."

"Askew!" Osborn exclaimed. "Father and son, the Askews have been the origin of the worst trouble I've had."

Hayes was willing to indulge Osborn's rancor and derived a rather malicious satisfaction from seeing him annoyed. Besides, he did not want to dwell upon the mortgage.

"I wonder whether you know Askew has bought Drysdale's sheep?"

"I did not know. I sold the flock to Graham."

"Then Askew must have bought them soon afterwards, unless he sent Graham to make the deal with you."

Osborn's face got red. "A shabby trick! Unthinkably shabby, after he forced up the price." He paused, and tried to control his anger. "But why did he buy that second-class lot?"

"There was a Carlside ram."

"Only fit for mutton; I studied the animal."

"Oh, well! Askew, no doubt, thinks he is a judge. I imagine he bought the others in order to get the ram."

"He cheated me," said Osborn, with a savage frown. "The fellow's a cunning rogue. I wish he hadn't come back—confound him!" He pulled himself up and added: "However, about the mortgage. I suppose I must agree to Fisher's terms. See him and arrange the thing as soon as possible."

Hayes went away and Osborn lighted a cigar. He had a disturbing feeling that he had been rash. The money would not last long and if he had not borrowed it, he might have paid the interest on other loans. Buying the sheep had really decided him to give the mortgage, since it had made him feel keenly the embarrassment of having very little money at command. There was another thing; Hayes wanted him to borrow the fresh sum, although a prudent agent would try to keep the estate out of debt. He could not see Hayes' object and felt suspicious, but while he pondered it began to rain and he went into the house.

It rained all day and at dusk the mist had crept down the hills. The long grass in the meadow bent before the deluge and slanted from the wind. The becks began to roar in the gyhlls, and threads of foam glimmered in the mist. A hoarse turmoil rose from the stream that fed the tarn, and an angry flood, stained brown by peat, rose steadily up the dyke. There was no promise of better weather when Osborn went to bed, and he had known rain like that last for a week. In fact, he had known all the hay crop and the most part of the young turnips washed down the valley.

The rain was heavier when, early next morning, Kit went out to move some sheep from a spot where the rising water might cut them off. He came back along the meadow dyke and stopped for a few minutes when he reached its weakest place. Reeds and tufts of heather whirled down the brown flood. Wide patches of turf and soil had fallen away, uncovering the foundation of boulders and gravel, and while Kit looked down a heavy stone rolled out of its place and plunged into the stream. Others were ready to go; the water was rising ominously fast and would rise for some time after the rain stopped. There was, however, nothing to indicate that it would stop, and Kit, knowing his native climate, looked about with some uneasiness.

A hollow across the meadow to a hedge, behind which were two large turnip fields, and he knew this marked a former channel of the beck. It was long since the water had flowed that way, but his father had told him that in heavy floods it had some times spread across the fields and joined the other stream at Allerby. If this happened again, the bottom of the dale would be covered and the crops ruined. When he was going away, three or four men with picks and spades came up.

"Are you going to mend the dyke?" he asked.

"We're gan to try," said one. "I reckon we'll not can hoad her up if beck rises much."

"She'll rise three or four feet," said Kit. "Is nobody else coming?"

"Neabody we ken aboot. Mr. Osborn sent to Allerby first thing, but miller wadn't let him have a man."

Kit thought hard. Bell had given up the mill and his successor had a dispute with Hayes. To repair the dyke properly would be a long and expensive business, since there were a number of weak spots, but a dozen men, working hard, might perhaps strengthen the threatened part sufficiently to bear the strain. Clearly, if they were to be of use, they must be found and set to work at once. In a sense, the risk was Osborn's, who would pay for his neglect, but the flood might damage his tenants' fields, and even if the damage were confined to Osborn's, Kit hated to see crops spoiled.

"You had better begin," he said. "I'll try to get help."

"Mayhappen folks will come for you, though they wadn't for t' maister," one replied. "We'll need aw you can get before lang."

Kit set off as fast as he could walk and, stopping for a minute at Ashness, sent his men. Then he went on to Allerby and at first found the farmers unwilling to move, but after some argument they went with him to the mill.

"We'll hear what miller has to say," one remarked. "He kens maist aboot the job, sin' he had t' mend t' lade when Hayes refused. For aw that, mending dyke is landlord's business."

"I'll not stir a hand to save Osborn's crops," the miller declared when he met them at the door. "His oad rogue o' an agent promised me he'd build up brocken lade, but when time came I had to do't mysel'."

Two of the others grumbled about promises Hayes had not kept, and then
Kit said, "All this is not important. I don't ask you to mend the dyke
for Osborn's sake but yours. If the beck breaks through and runs down to
Allerby, it will spoil all the hay and fill the mill-lead with rubbish."

"Then we'll get compensation. Landlord's bound to keep dyke in order."

Kit smiled. "You'll get nothing, unless you go to law and I don't know if you'll get much then. Hayes is clever and the dispute would be expensive. You'll certainly find it cheaper to mend the dyke."

They pondered this, until the miller made a sign of agreement.

"I'll not can say you're wrang. I'm coming with my two men."

Kit told him to bring a horse and cart and the party set off for the threatened bank. The beck had risen while Kit was away and stones and soil slipped down into the flood. An angry turmoil indicated that the current had rolled the rubbish into a dam.

"We've gotten our job," said the miller as he drove in his spade.

They got to work, but the current that undermined the bank brought down the turf and soil with which they tried to fill the holes. It was plain that a stronger material was needed and Kit sent some men to a roadmaker's quarry at the bottom of the fell while he rearranged some harness. When he had finished he fastened an extra horse outside the shafts of the carts and two men drove the teams across the field. They went off fast, jolting the carts by their clumsy trot, but Kit knew the extra horse would be needed when they returned. Soon afterwards, Osborn came up the other bank and stopped opposite with the rain running off his mackintosh.

"Has anybody given you leave to meddle with the dyke?" he asked.

"No," said Kit. "We'll let it alone, if you like, but there won't be much of your hay left when the flood breaks through, and I imagine you could be made responsible for other damage."

Osborn hesitated and Kit, seeing his frown, began to wonder whether he would send him away. Then he resumed: "Who engaged these men?"

"I don't know that they are engaged. Anyhow, if there's a difficulty about their getting paid, I'm accountable."

"Bring them to Tarnside when you have finished," Osborn answered and went off.

Kit resumed his work with savage energy. He thought Osborn did not deserve to be helped, but this did not matter much. Others would suffer unless he finished the job he had undertaken and it almost looked as if the flood would beat him. The trench from which they dug the soil they needed filled with water, the spades got slippery with rain and mud, and the horses sank in the trampled slough. Kit, however, had made his plans while he looked for help and had forgotten nothing that he might want. Hammers, drills, and a can of powder had been brought, and now and then a dull report rolled across the dale and heavy stones crashed in the quarry.

When he had stone enough he and one or two others stood on the front of the bank with the water washing round their legs while they built up the ragged blocks. The pieces were hard to fit and sometimes the rude wall broke when the men on top threw down the backing of soil. Kit tore his hand on a sharp corner, but persisted while the blood ran down his fingers and his wet clothes stuck to his skin. The others supported him well and he only stopped for breath and to wipe from his eyes the water that trickled off his soaked hat. The loaded cart, ploughing through the mire, met the other going back; the men at the quarry kept him supplied, and when he had made a foundation the bank began to rise. For all that, the beck rose almost as fast, and at noon they had not gained much on the flood. Kit was doubtful, but on the whole thought it prudent to let the men stop. They had worked hard and could not keep it up without a rest.

When they collected with their dinner cans under a dripping hedge, one remarked: "Mayhappen we'd better wait for Osborn to send cold meat and ale. I'll mak' a start with bread and cheese."

The others grinned, but Kit got up as he heard a rattle of wheels. "Don't begin just yet. Two of you go to the gate."

The men came back with a big jar and a basket, and the others gathered round when Kit took off the clean, wet cloth.

"Yon lunch niver came fra Tarnside; it's ower good and liberal," said one. "Ashness folk dinna believe in sending a half-empty jar."

When they had eaten and drunk, one or two tried to light their pipes but gave it up and they got to work again. Kit's hand hurt; it was long since he had undertaken much manual labor, and his muscles felt horribly stiff. He knew, however, that the men needed a leader, not a superintendent, and he would not urge them to efforts he shirked. And a leader was all they needed. They had no liking for Osborn, but they were stubborn and now they had begun they meant to finish. Shovels clinked, stones rattled from the carts, and the pile of earth and rock rose faster than the flood.

In the meantime the mist got thicker and the rain swept the valley. The long grass near the trench was trodden into pulp where the turf was cut, the surface of the bank melted, and the men stumbled as they climbed it with their loads. The wheelbarrows poured down water as well as sticky soil, and Kit's clothes got stiff with mud. Despite this, he held out until, in the evening, the strengthened dyke stood high above the stream. Then he threw down his spade and stretched his aching arms.

"I think she'll hold the water back and we can do no more," said Kit.

The others gathered up their tools and climbing into the carts drove down the dale. When they reached the Tarnside lodge Kit pulled up.

"You have done a good job for Osborn and there's no reason you shouldn't get your pay," he said.

Two or three jumped down, without much enthusiasm, and the old gardener came out and gave one an envelope.

"For Mr. Askew," he remarked.

"Is that all?" the other asked, and the gardener grinned.

"That's all. What did you expect?"

The man took the envelope to Kit and the rest waited with some curiosity. They were very tired and big drops fell on them as the wind shook the dripping trees. Kit opened the envelope and his face flushed as he took out a note addressed to Hayes.

"Pay C. Askew and the men whose names follow one day's wages, on estate account," it ran.

This was all and the sum noted at the bottom represented the lowest payment for unskilled labor. Kit handed the note to his companions and while some laughed ironically two or three swore.

"Next time beck's in flood Osborn can mend his dyke himsel'," said one. "If five minutes' digging wad save Tarnside Hall, I'd sooner lose my hay than stir a hand!"

Then they got into the carts, and drove off in the rain.