“Intoxicants, do you mean?” the Englishman asked, without turning around.  “No, I do not drink.”

“You didn’t happen to bring anything over with you, did you, for seasickness on the boat?” Mr. Motherwell queried anxiously, holding the lantern above his head.

“No, I did not,” the young man said laconically.

“Turn out at five to-morrow morning then,” his employer snapped in evident disappointment, and he lowered the lantern so quickly that it went out.

The young man lay down upon his hard bed.  His utter weariness was a blessing to him that night, for not even the racing mice, the musty smells or the hardness of his straw bed could keep him from slumber.

In what seemed to him but a few minutes, he was awakened by a loud knocking on the door below, voices shouted, a dog barked, cow-bells jangled; he could hear doors banging everywhere, a faint streak of sunlight lay wan and pale on the mud-plastered walls.

“By Jove!” he said yawning, “I know now what Kipling meant when he said ‘the dawn comes up like thunder.’”

A few weeks after Arthur’s arrival, Mrs. Motherwell called him from the barn, where he sat industriously mending bags, to unhitch her horse from the buggy.  She had just driven home from Millford.  Nobody had taken the trouble to show Arthur how it was done.

“Any fool ought to know,” Mr. Motherwell said.

Arthur came running from the barn with his hat in his hand.  He grasped the horse firmly by the bridle and led him toward the barn.  As they came near the water trough the horse began to show signs of thirst.  Arthur led him to the trough, but the horse tossed his head and was unable to get it near the water on account of the check.

Arthur watched him a few moments with gathering perplexity.

“I can’t lift this water vessel,” he said, looking at the horse reproachfully.  “It’s too heavy, don’t you know.  Hold!  I have it,” he cried with exultation beaming in his face; and making a dash for the horse he unfastened the crupper.

But the exultation soon died from his face, for the horse still tossed his head in the vain endeavour to reach the water.

“My word!” he said, wrinkling his forehead, “I believe I shall have to lift the water-vessel yet, though it is hardly fit to lift, it is so wet and nasty.”  Arthur spoke with a deliciously soft Kentish accent, guiltless of r’s and with a softening of the h’s that was irresistible.

A light broke over his face again.  He went behind the buggy and lifted the hind wheels.  While he was holding up the wheels and craning his neck around the back of the buggy to see if his efforts were successful, Jim Russell came into the yard, riding his dun-coloured pony Chiniquy.

He stood still in astonishment.  Then the meaning of it came to him and he rolled off Chiniquy’s back, shaking with silent laughter.

“Come, come, Arthur,” he said as soon as he could speak.  “Stop trying to see how strong you are.  Don’t you see the horse wants a drink?”