On the other hand, the alternatives
was the open sky and the muddy lanes that led down to the
sea. The farm offered him, at any rate, a temporary refuge
from destitution; farming was one of the many things he had
``tried,'' and he would be able to do a certain amount of
work in return for the hospitality to which he was so little
entitled.
``Will you have cold pork for your supper,'' asked the
hard-faced maid, as she cleared the table, ``or will you
have it hotted up?''
``Hot, with onions,'' said Stoner. It was the only time
in his life that he had made a rapid decision. And as he
gave the order he knew that he meant to stay.
Stoner kept rigidly to those portions of the house which
seemed to have been allotted to him by a tacit treaty of
delimitation. When he took part in the farm-work it was as
one who worked under orders and never initiated them. Old
George, the roan cob, and Bowker's pup were his sole
companions in a world that was otherwise frostily silent and
hostile. Of the mistress of the farm he saw nothing. Once,
when he knew she had gone forth to church, he made a furtive
visit to the farm parlour in an endeavour to glean some
fragmentary knowledge of the young man whose place he had
usurped, and whose ill-repute he had fastened on himself.
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