“Aye, I bowt her for sixpence afore I wed her,” he said, looking them steadily in the face, “an’ t’ man that selled her to me said I’d gotten her muck-cheap.  Them was t’ truest words he iver spak, an’ shoo would hae been muck-cheap if I’d gien a million pund for her.”

During all the years that Mary Whittaker had spent at Holmton she had not once caught sight of Samuel Learoyd.  Fieldhead Farm was only four miles away, but she had never had the courage to go near it.  The farmer visited Holmton only on market days, and notlung could ever induce his stepdaughter to go near the scene of her deep humiliation.  But though she did not see Learoyd he was never long out of her mind, and through her husband and children she kept herself informed of what was going on at the farm.

After his shameless traffic in the Holmton market-place Learoyd had for some months lived alone.  Never a sociable man, he shunned the society of the neighbouring farmers, and they, on their side, resenting his outrageous conduct to his stepdaughter, studiously kept out of his way.  Doggedly he set himself to do both the labours of the house and farm, and sought to stifle in hard work the memory of his wife’s desertion of him, together with whatever twinges of remorse may have come to him when he thought of the revenge which he had taken upon her daughter.  But as time went on he found it impossible to attend to all his duties.  Nothing could induce him to enlist the services of a housekeeper, but he engaged a man, who occupied a two-roomed cottage a hundred yards away from the farm, and helped him in stable and field.  But the sullen humour of Learoyd was hard to put up with, and the men who came to him soon sought employment elsewhere.  He would engage a servant for the year at the Martinmas hiring, but as soon as the year was up the man would leave, and it became increasingly difficult for the farmer to find a substitute.

“What mak o’ a gaffer is Learoyd?” one labourer would ask of another as they stood together in the Holmton market-place waiting to be hired.

“A dowly, harden-faced mon, an’ gey hard to bide wi’, accordin’ to what all t’ day-tale men is sayin’,” replied the other.

“He looks it,” answered the first.  “He’s gotten a face that’s like beer when t’ thunder has turned it to allicker.  If I was to live wi’ him I’d want a clothes-horse set betwix’ me an’ him at dinner, or he’d turn my vittles sour i’ my belly.”

“He twilted his wife, did Learoyd, while she ran away wi’ Sam Woodhead at t’ Woolpack, an’ then he selled his dowter for sixpence.  He can’t bide women-fowks i’ t’ house.”

“Then he’ll not git me to coom an’ live wi’ him.  I’ve swallowed t’ church i’ my last place, but I’m noan baan to swallow t’ steeple at efter.”

Such were the opinions passed on Learoyd by the farm labourers round about Holmton, and it was little wonder that, as the years went by, the condition of his farm grew steadily worse.