The agent was standing by Tryst’s bed, keeping up a stream of comment to two of his men, who were taking that aged bed to pieces.  It was his habit to feel less when he talked more; but no one could have fallen into a more perfect taciturnity than he when he saw Kirsteen coming up those narrow stairs.  In so small a space as this room, where his head nearly touched the ceiling, was it fair to be confronted by that lady—­he put it to his wife that same evening—­“Was it fair?” He had seen a mother wild duck look like that when you took away its young—­snaky fierce about the neck, and its dark eye!  He had seen a mare, going to bite, look not half so vicious!  “There she stood, and—­let me have it?—­not a bit!  Too much the lady for that, you know!—­Just looked at me, and said very quiet:  ‘Ah!  Mr. Simmons, and are you really doing this?’ and put her hand on that little girl of his.  ‘Orders are orders, ma’am!’ What could I say?  ‘Ah!’ she said, ’yes, orders are orders, but they needn’t be obeyed.’  ‘As to that, ma’am,’ I said—­mind you, she’s a lady; you can’t help feeling that ’I’m a working man, the same as Tryst here; got to earn my living.’  ’So have slave-drivers, Mr. Simmons.’  ‘Every profession,’ I said, ’has got its dirty jobs, ma’am.  And that’s a fact.’  ‘And will have,’ she said, ’so long as professional men consent to do the dirty work of their employers.’  ‘And where should I be, I should like to know,’ I said, ’if I went on that lay?  I’ve got to take the rough with the smooth.’  ‘Well,’ she said, ’Mr. Freeland and I will take Tryst and the little ones in at present.’  Good-hearted people, do a lot for the laborers, in their way.  All the same, she’s a bit of a vixen.  Picture of a woman, too, standin’ there; shows blood, mind you!  Once said, all over—­no nagging.  She took the little girl off with her.  And pretty small I felt, knowing I’d got to finish that job, and the folk outside gettin’ nastier all the time—­not sayin’ much, of course, but lookin’ a lot!” The agent paused in his recital and gazed fixedly at a bluebottle crawling up the windowpane.  Stretching out his thumb and finger, he nipped it suddenly and threw it in the grate.  “Blest if that fellow himself didn’t turn up just as I was finishing.  I was sorry for the man, you know.  There was his home turned out-o’-doors.  Big man, too!  ’You blanky-blank!’ he says; ‘if I’d been here you shouldn’t ha’ done this!’ Thought he was goin’ to hit me.  ‘Come, Tryst!’ I said, ‘it’s not my doing, you know!’ ‘Ah!’ he said, ’I know that; and it’ll be blanky well the worse for them!’ Rough tongue; no class of man at all, he is!  ‘Yes,’ he said, ’let ’em look out; I’ll be even with ’em yet!’ ‘None o’ that!’ I told him; ’you know which side the law’s buttered.  I’m making it easy for you, too, keeping your things in the wagon, ready to shift any time!’ He gave me a look—­he’s got very queer eyes, swimmin’, sad sort of eyes, like a man in liquor—­and he said: