“That’ll burn up nicely now,” said Joanna, surveying the fire.  “You’d better put the fish-kettle on too, in case Broadhurst wants hot water for a mash.  Bring me out a cup of tea as soon as you can get it ready—­I’ll be somewhere in the yard.”

She put on an old coat of her father’s over her black dress, and went out, her nailed boots clattering on the 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lichen that covered the slated roofs of barns and dwelling—­the roofs were all new, having only for a year or two superseded the old roofs of osier thatch, but that queer golden rust had almost hidden their substance, covering them as it covered everything that was left exposed to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?”