Peter’s face was brown and deeply lined, and his shoulders were bent, for he had led a life of steady toil.  This was rather from choice than stern necessity, because he owned the farm and had money enough to cultivate it well.  As a rule, he was reserved and thoughtful, but his neighbors trusted him.  They knew he was clever, although he used their homely dialect and lived as frugally as themselves.  In the dale, one worked hard and spent no more than one need.  Yet Peter had broken the latter rule when he resolved to give his son a wider outlook than he had had.

Kit had gone from the lonely farm to a good school where he had beaten, by brains and resolution, the sons of professional and business men.  His teachers said he had talent, and although Peter was often lonely since his wife died, he meant to give the lad his chance.  Somewhat to his relief, Kit decided to return to the soil, and Peter sent him to an agricultural college.  Since Kit meant to farm he should be armed by such advantages as modern science could give.  It was obvious that he would need them all in the struggle against low prices and the inclement weather that vexed the dale.  Now he had come home, in a sense not much changed, and Peter was satisfied.  Kit and he seldom jarred, and the dalesfolk, who did not know how like they were under the surface, sometimes thought it strange.

Four or five of their neighbors sat in the kitchen, for the most part smoking quietly, but now and then grumbling about the recent heavy rain.  This was not what they had come to talk about, and Peter waited.  He knew their cautious reserve; they were obstinate and slow to move, and if he tried to hurry them might take alarm.  By and by one knocked out his pipe.

“How are you getting forrad with t’ peat-cutting?” he asked.

“We have cut enough to last for three or four months.”

“You’ll need it aw.  Coal’s a terrible price,” another remarked.

“It will be dearer soon,” said Peter.  “Since Bell has t’ lease o’ both coal yards, he can charge what he likes.”

“A grasping man!  Yan canna get feeding stuff for stock, seed, an’ lime, unless yan pays his price.  Noo he has t’ traction-engine, kilns, and mill, he’ll own aw t’ dale before lang.”

“It’s very possible, unless you stop him,” Kit interposed.

“Landlord ought to stop him,” one rejoined.

Kit smiled.  “That’s too much to expect; it’s your business to help yourselves.  Mr. Osborn takes the highest rent that’s offered, and you missed your chance when you let Bell get Allerby mill.”

“Neabody else had t’ money,” another grumbled.

“Two or three of us could have clubbed together and made a profit after selling feeding stuff at a moderate price.”

The others were silent for a minute of two and Kit let them ponder.  He had learned something about the wastefulness of individual effort, and on his return to Ashness had urged the farmers to join in bidding for a lease of the mill.  They had refused, and would need careful handling now, for the old cooperative customs that had ruled in the dale before the railway came had gone.