to produce, even on week-day afternoons, sundry small, ill-printed sheets, from which he would read out revolutionary sentiments the like of which had never before been heard in Thornleigh.  For the most part his neighbours considered it extremely foolish of Ted to be “weerin’ his brass on sich like,” when a ha’porth of twist would have been so much more satisfactory.  They cared nothing at all about Home Rule, and did not see that the labour question in any way bore upon their own case.  What they wanted to know was when Government was going to raise the price of wheat, and what was the use of growing ’taters when it wasn’t worth while carting them to Liverpool?

But Ted was not only the village Radical:  he was also the village wag, with a reputation for humour which rendered him enormously popular.  He was about thirty-five years old; a small man with sandy hair, a serious, not to say solemn, expression of countenance, and twinkling light grey eyes, which he had a trick of blinking when about to perpetrate a joke.  His trousers were a little too short, his coat-sleeves—­when he wore a coat—­a little too long.  On ordinary occasions his hat was tilted to the back of his head, and when in a jocular humour he cocked it knowingly over one eye.  Probably these peculiarities, coupled with a certain dry method of enunciating, added largely to Ted’s renown.

As they walked briskly along this hot summer’s afternoon, the two men did not take the trouble to converse with each other.  Joe, indeed, was at all times a taciturn person, and Ted was probably reserving himself for the delectation of the cronies whom he expected to meet at the “Thornleigh Arms.”  When he had caught up Joe on the road he had volunteered that he was steppin’ up yonder, and Joe had replied that that was reet, jerking his head forward at the same time as an indication that he was steppin’ up yonder too; thenceforth they had, as a matter of course, proceeded together, Ted walking a pace or two in advance and whistling to himself.

The village was now left behind, and on one side of the road, behind the dusty hedge, some colts were keeping step with them, occasionally starting and floundering forward after the manner of their kind, and then wheeling and coming slowly back with foolish heads extended and ears pricked, all ready for another bounce if either of the pedestrians raised his hand or kicked a stone out of his path.  To their left the corn stood tall and yellow, almost ready for the harvest.  Now they approached some woods, familiarly known as “the Mosses,” from the peaty nature of the soil.  A few weeks before the thick undergrowth of rhododendrons had been ablaze with clustering purple blossoms, and many wild flowers grew now on the borders of the deep ditch which surrounded them.  These woods lay cornerwise with the main road, a sandy lane following the angle they described.  On the grassy border of this lane a flock of geese were tranquilly