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.

CHAPTER V