It was really nearly eight o’clock, and Paul’s work had been neglected, which was enough to cause displeasure; and besides, Boldre had heard Paul coming home past eleven, and the farmer insisted on knowing what he had been doing.

Under all his rags, Paul was a very proud boy, and thus asked, he would not tell, but stood with his legs twisted, looking very sulky.

‘No use asking him,’ cried Mrs. Shepherd’s shrill voice at the back door; ’why, don’t ye hear that Mrs. Barker’s hen-roost has been robbed by Dick Royston and two or three more on ’em?’

‘I never robbed!’ cried Paul indignantly.

‘None of your jaw,’ said the farmer angrily.  ’If you don’t tell me this moment where you’ve been, off you go this instant.  Drinking at the Tankard, I’ll warrant.’

‘No such thing, Sir,’ said Paul.  ’I went to Elbury after some medicine for a sick person.’

Somehow he had a feeling about the house opposite, which would not let him come out with the name in such a scene.

‘That’s all stuff,’ broke in Mrs. Shepherd, ’I don’t believe one word of it!  Send him off; take my advice, Farmer, let him go where he comes from; Ellen King told me he was out of prison.’

Paul flushed crimson at this, and shook all over.  He had all but turned to go, caring for nothing more at Friarswood; but just then, John Farden, one of the labourers, who was carrying out some manure, called out, ’No, no, Ma’am.  Sure enough he did go to Elbury to Dr. Blunt’s.  I was on the road myself, and I hears him.  “Goodnight,” says I.  “Good-night,” says he.  “Where be’est going?” says I.  “To doctor’s,” says he, “arter some stuff for Alfred King.”

‘Yes,’ said Paul, speaking more to Farden than to his master, ’and then Mrs. King gave me some supper, and that was what made me so late.’

‘She ought to be ashamed of herself, then,’ said Mrs. Shepherd spitefully, ’having a vagabond scamp like that drinking beer at her house at that time of night.  How one is deceived in folks!’

‘Well, what are you doing here?’ cried the farmer, turning on Paul angrily; ‘d’ye mean to waste any more of the day?’

So Paul was not turned off, and had to go straight to his work.  It was well he had had so good a supper, for he had not a moment to snatch a bit of breakfast.  It so happened that his work was to go with John Farden, who was carrying out the manure in the cart.  Paul had to hold the horse, while John forked it out into little heaps in the field.  John was a great big powerful man, with a foolish face, not a good workman, nor a good character, or he would not have been at that farm.  He had either never been taught anything, or had forgotten it all; he never went near church; he had married a disreputable wife, and had two or three unruly children, who were likely to be the plagues of their parents and the parish, but not a whit did John heed; he did not seem to have much more sense than to work just enough to get food, lodging, beer, and tobacco, to sleep all night, and doze all Sunday.  There was not any malice nor dishonesty in him; but it was terrible that a man with an immortal soul should live so nearly the life of the brute beasts that have no understanding, and should never wake to the sense of God or of eternity.