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When Perris lay down to sleep behind the wheat-stack he was unaware that Pippany Webster was watching him from the vantage-point of a convenient hole in the adjacent hedge. The man-of-all-work had been spending a leisurely day in hoeing turnips, and, secure in the knowledge that his master was at the Dancing Bear, and likely to remain there, he had varied his peregrinations up and down the rows of fresh green plants by long rests in the welcome shade of the hawthorns. It was during one of these vacations that he saw Perris lurching across the next field. Pippany saw at once that the farmer was drunk, and, drawing back into the hedgerow, he followed his crab-like movements with interest. He watched Perris gain the wheatstack and disappear behind it; seeing that he made no reappearance, Pippany decided to approach with caution, and to ascertain for himself what had happened. The wheatstack stood in the angle of the field; it was an easy matter to creep along the hedge and to see what was going on in the angle which Perris had sought as a refuge from Rhoda. In a few moments the man was gazing at the master, who by that time was oblivious of everything.

"Drucken!" Pippany muttered, as he peered through the undergrowth of the hedge. "Reight drucken! He's come theer to sleep t' drink off. I wonder what our missis 'ud say if shoo set ees on him?—shoo'd be for takin' t' skin offen his back. It 'ud be a rare fine thing if I went and telled her 'at he wor liggin' theer!—I could like to see her beltin' him."

Pippany was so taken with the notion of beholding Rhoda thrash her drunken husband that he was minded to set off in the direction of the farmstead there and then, and to fetch her to the scene of Perris's slumbers. But just as he was about to turn away his small eyes caught sight of a shining object which lay on the ground at the unconscious man's side. The shaft of sunlight which streamed down between the wheatstack and the hedgerow fell full upon it, and Pippany noticed that it was glinting upon a golden sovereign.

Visions of great possibilities stole across Pippany's mental field at the sight of that piece of gold. He rose from his hands and knees, trembling in every limb, and looked fearfully and cautiously about him. There was not a soul in sight anywhere; the ground on which the wheatstack stood lay in something of a dip in the land, and it was impossible to see it from the farmstead. Close by there was a convenient gap in the hedge; Pippany presently crept through it, and cautiously approached the recumbent figure. A slight inspection convinced him that Perris was not to be aroused by anything short of violence, and he picked up the sovereign and bestowed it in his own pocket. Then it struck him that where the sovereign had been other sovereigns might be, and he presently summoned up courage to insert his hand into his master's pocket and to draw forth what he found there. And, stealing quietly round to the other side of the wheatstack, Pippany counted his gains. There were three sovereigns and a half sovereign, and some small silver; the silver Pippany put in his breeches, the gold he placed in his metal tobacco-box, snugly stuffed in amongst the tobacco.

"I mud just as weel hev' it as let him hev' it," he said to himself. "He's niver paid me fair, and this here 'll do to mak' up. Gow, but Mistress Perris, shoo would be mad an' all if shoo knew I'd takken his brass away thro' him!"

This reflection so cheered Pippany that he crept back through the gap in the hedge, picked up his hoe, and worked steadily at the turnips until it was time to discontinue his labours for the day. At a quarter to six he shouldered his hoe and made off to the farmstead. His supper was due to be served at a quarter past six, but he was indifferent as to whether it was ready or not; he was already promising himself a supper of his own, later on, when he returned to his cottage in the village.

Rhoda was in a temper when Pippany walked into the house-place. She had expected Perris to return home by four o'clock at the latest, he would even then have had quite two hours for his conviviality and recreation. When five o'clock arrived and there were no signs of him she began to exhibit symptoms of anger, and her temper was not improved by the remarks of Tibby Graddige, who had come to assist at the weekly wash, and was full of suggestions as to what happened when a parcel of men got talking and drinking after the rent dinner. And just before Pippany's arrival she had sent Tibby down to the Dancing Bear with a message to the effect that Mr. Perris was urgently wanted at home.

"Have you seen aught of your master?" she demanded, as Pippany lurched into the house-place and made for the seat whereat he took his meals. "Has he been with you since dinner-time?"

"I hevn't seen nowt o' no maisters," answered Pippany, seating himself. "I hevn't set ees on Mestur Perris sin' braikfast, when he telled me to start on them tonnups. An' a rare hard day I've hed on it, an' all—t' sun wor that hot this efternoon 'at ye could ha' fried that theer bacon by it!"

Rhoda made no reply. She had no cause of complaint against Pippany, and she set his supper and his pint of ale before him. As he began to eat and drink Tibby Graddige came back, black-browed and mysterious. She gave Rhoda a swift glance as she entered.

"Now then?" said Rhoda.

"They say 'at Mestur Perris left t' Dancin' Bear at just after four o'clock," said Tibby. "Mistress Pycock, t' landlady, she says she see'd him walkin' as straight and sober as a judge up t' road—he shakked hands wi' her afore he quitted t' premises."

"Then where's he gone?" said Rhoda. "It doesn't take more than a quarter of an hour to walk up from the cross roads."

Pippany Webster looked up, his cheeks bulging with bread and bacon.

"It's i' my mind, missis," he said, "it's i' my mind 'at our maister said summat this mornin' about goin' over to Lowcroft yonder some time to-day to see about some young pigs 'at Mestur Turbey hes to sell. Happen he's gone theer when he come away thro' t' rent dinner?—killed two birds wi' one stone. I' that case he'd go across t' fields at t' back of the village. I know he wor wantin' some o' Mestur Turbey's young pigs—they're reight 'uns, is them young pigs—what they call Berkshires. I lay that's wheer he's gone."

Rhoda considered this suggestion in silence. She and Tibby Graddige sat down to a cup of tea at the little table near the fire. Tibby, who had taken a drop of something comforting at the invitation of Mrs. Pycock, began to tell the news.

"They've hed grand doin's to-day down at t' Bear," she said. "Mistress Pycock, she tell'd me what they hed to eat. Theer were a noble sirloin o' beef—t' biggest, she said, 'at they iver put on t' spit i' their kitchen—and a boiled leg o' mutton, wi' t' usual trimmin's, and a boiled ham—a grand 'un!—and roast fowls and boiled fowls, and plumpuddin's, and berry-pies and custards. I'll lay some on 'em weern't want their bellies fillin' for another week. And theer wor wine to sup, an' all—port wine and sherry wine, same as t' quality sups when they get their dinners. And Mistress Pycock, she says 'at they all did full justice to it, and t' steward complimented her varry high afore all t' company. And of course all t' farmers hed good reasons to be i' reight fettle for their meat, an' to rejoice an' all, 'cause theer were a reduction o' t' rents."

"A what?" exclaimed Rhoda.

"A reduction o' t' rents, as they call it," answered Tibby. "A rebate, like—givin' 'em all back summat out o' what they paid, 'cause his Lordship had pity on 'em on account o' t' wet harvest last year."

"How much?" demanded Rhoda.

"Why, Mistress Pycock, she said it wor what they term ten per cent.," replied Tibby, "an' I'm sure I don't know what that means, 'cause I'm no scholard; but she said, did Mistress Pycock, 'at it meant 'at wheer a farmer paid, as it weer, say fifty pound, t' steward handed five on it back to him. An' a varry nice surprise an' all, and I don't wonder 'at they hed a good heart for atein' their dinners. I could ate as much as iver were set afore me if I hed a few golden pounds i' my pocket 'at I hedn't expected to find theer!"

"Aye, an' so could I!" said Pippany Webster. "Theer's nowt gives a man such a appetite as knowin' 'at he's gotten a bit o' brass on him!"

Rhoda had sufficient mathematical knowledge to be able to make a rough mental calculation. If a man who paid fifty pounds in rent had five pounds returned to him, a man who paid over forty must receive at least four. So that, in addition to the small silver change which she had flung on the hearthrug at his feet that morning, Perris before noon must have been put in possession of over four pounds in gold. Where was he? What had he done with it? What was he doing with it? She knew his weakness; if he had gone to look at Turbey's pigs, it was quite probable that he and Turbey had adjourned to a certain roadside inn at the other end of Martinsthorpe, and that they would sit there drinking until the landlord turned them out. And for the hundredth time that day she wished that she had done what she had wanted to do—made an excuse for Perris's nonattendance and gone down to pay the rent herself.

Pippany Webster finished his supper and went off, turning his tobacco-box over and over in his breeches pocket; Tibby Graddige remained long enough to wash up the crockery, and then she went, too, and Rhoda was left alone. By that time she was furiously angry, and her anger increased because of her powerlessness to deal with the situation. Had she known as a certainty that Perris was at the Dancing Bear, she would have gone down there and raked him out of parlour or kitchen without shame or ceremony. But by that time she did not know where he might be. He might be at Turbey's—Turbey was fond of the bottle himself—or he might be at the wayside inn beyond Lowcroft; he might even have gone into the market-town. There was nothing for it but to wait, and in the gathering dusk she waited, chafing and resentful.

The dusk changed to darkness, but Rhoda had no thought of lighting the lamp. The wood fire died down until it was no more than a handful of smouldering ash; she let it sink unregarded. Nine o'clock had come and gone when she heard an uncertain step on the cobble-stones of the farmyard. She sprang up then, and lighted a tallow candle which stood on the table; as its feeble light slowly spread over the cheerless scene the door opened, and Perris came in, to meet his wife's accusing and angry eyes.

Perris was sober by that time—sober enough, at any rate, to be in a state of dire dejection, repentance and fright. He had awakened with a violent start, to find himself on his back behind the wheatstack, with a starlit patch of sky over his head, the hedgerow swaying in the night wind, and his clothes damp with the rapidly gathering dew. He had there and then set off home, having some vague notion in his muddled head that there was a bad time before him, and that he had better get it over, But he was unconscious of the loss of his money; the only catastrophe of which he was aware was that of the ivory-handled umbrella. And when he walked into his house, he grinned at Rhoda with the ingratiating and benevolent smile of one who brings good tidings.

"Now, my lass!" he said, with a fine attempt to carry matters off in a good style. "I'm a bit late, as it were—I hed a bit o' business that okkeypied me when t' rent dinner were over. Ye'll be glad to hear, mi lass, 'at his Lordship thowt well to make a reduction on t' rents, and so accordin'-ly—accordin'-ly, I say—"

Rhoda suddenly uttered an exclamation of horror. She had caught sight of the broken umbrella, and she darted forward and snatched it out of Perris's grasp.

"Aw—aye-I hed an accident wi' t' umbrella," said Perris apologetically. "It's ower weak for a grown man to walk wi'. We mun hey' it mended, mi lass, or we mun buy a new 'un. Howsomiver, as I were observin', mi lass, his Lordship were so disposed—"

Rhoda suddenly slapped her open palm on the table.

"Where's the money?" she demanded. "Where's the money?"

Perris began to fumble in his pockets. His wife's sharp eyes detected the bits of straw and grass on his clothes; he looked as a young colt looks that has been rolling itself in field and fold; she saw, too, that his billycock hat was crushed in, and that he had torn a considerable rent in the tail of his coat. And as she watched him she saw his face, drawn and dirty from his out-of-doors sleep, turn pasty with wonder and fear. His hands shook as they strayed from pocket to pocket.

"It's—it's none there!" he stammered. "I—I mun ha' been robbed! Robbed!"

Rhoda's bosom heaved up in a great throb of passionate rebellion. Her face, too, turned white around her blazing eyes and drawn lips as she shook her fist at the amazed man who stood swaying and sweating before her.

"You damned, blasted liar!" she burst out. "Robbed! You've drunk it, and lost it. You—"

But there speech failed her. For an instant Perris shrank back, thinking she was going to strike him, but the lifted hand dropped to the table, crashing the tin candlestick and its feeble light to the ground. In the darkness he heard Rhoda rush past him, the door open and close with a bang: he knew himself then to be alone. For a few moments he stood muttering to himself, as he again searched pocket after pocket; at last he groped about his feet for the fallen candle, and, having relighted it, set it on the table and wonderingly stared around the house-place. And, crossing over to the door, he pulled it open with a jerk and looked out on the night. The night was as silent as the house, but somewhere in the road outside his straining ears caught the faint patter of hurrying feet.