But he would have kept out of that if he could. Nevertheless, his own party edged him on to fight, and mine insisted on it, and presently we were all behind the school-wall, and our seconds were holding our coats. And I, remembering the doctor’s counsel to keep cool, kept cool as long as I could, and at the right moment I gave my opponent one from the left shoulder which spoiled his looks for many a day. And after that there was no more teasing of me, but I was much respected.
Two days afterwards came Dennis Watson to me, as I crossed the playground alone. “Will Dale,” said he, with a strange look of hatred on his face, “I hate you, and always shall. And however long I live, I will cause you such trouble as will make you wish you had never been born.”
Now at the time I made light of this threat, and laughed at it. But I remembered it many a time in the years which followed.
VI
Of the Dispute in the Marketplace
It was in the middle of spring when I was first taken to school, and my life till the end of the following summer was comparatively uneventful. On Saturdays I went home, to tell Jacob Trusty of my doings during the week, and to receive his counsel and admonition on various matters. Those weekend visits home were great events. On the Saturday I visited all my old haunts, took out my dog, saw to my garden, and went round the farmstead renewing acquaintance with man and beast. On the Sunday we went to church as usual. Then came Monday morning again, and I wended my way to school once more, generally catching up Jack Drumbleforth on the road. Having fought and beaten Dennis Watson, there was little else left me to do in that line, for no lad of my own age and size cared to fight with me, and the elder lads were, of course, above battling with their junior. So I went on with my tasks in a steady and laborious fashion, not being over-ready of perception, but still determined to do what lay in me. In this manner of life the months passed on quietly. But just as summer was over, and we had brought home the last load of the corn-harvest, there came matters which changed the whole course of my life.
I have already told you that between the Watsons of Castle Hill and the Dales of Dale’s Field there was an ancient root of contention in the shape of a piece of land lying between our respective estates. The ownership of this, which was but a strip of meadow, had been disputed ’twixt Dale and Watson for many a generation, though neither side had ever sought the aid of the law in order to settle matters once and for all. Formerly, if one house had sent flocks to graze on the debatable ground, the other had forthwith driven the offending animals away. Sometimes blows had arisen from this proceeding, and the servants from each farmstead had turned out with quarterstaff or cudgel, and fought fiercely one with another. But for nearly fifty years previous to my time neither side had claimed the land, though both were equally careful that no right of way should be established across it by third parties. Yet although matters had been quiet, the red spirit of dislike and resentment ran strong as ever, and of all men in that neighbourhood, Rupert Watson of Castle Hill was the only one that my father never held speech with.
It was the first week of September, , and by permission of Dr. Parsons I had come home from school on the Thursday in order to be present at our harvest-supper, which was a great event, and not to be missed on any account. There were gathered together on that occasion all our servants, male and female, all that ever worked for us on odd days during the year, such as at turnip-hoeing or sheepshearing times, and with them came their wives and families, so that our great barn was well filled. There were also two or three farmers of our acquaintance from the neighbouring villages, and sometimes Parson Drumbleforth was present to hallow the ceremony, as he indeed was upon this occasion, and with him Jack, who had been permitted to beg off from school. Great doings there were at our harvest-supper, namely, an abundance of provisions and good cheer, and after that dancing to the music of the village fiddler, who sat on a tub in the centre, and played for all he was worth until neither man nor maiden could dance any longer. Nor were the horses forgotten, which had worked so hard during the harvest-month, for they on that night had each an extra feed of corn.
On this particular occasion, when the supper was well over, and Tom Treddle, the fiddler, had just got into the swing of his first tune, Will White, the miller, of Smeaton, drew my father aside into a corner, and began to talk to him.
“I am afraid, Master Dale,” said Will, “that you are going to have trouble;” and he nodded his head in the direction of the woods that bound our farm.
“What is it, Will?” asked my father.
“Why, certainly,” answered the miller, “ ’tis none of my business, and maybe I ought not to meddle with it. But you see my nearest way from home to your place here, Master Dale, lies across the fields. Now, as I came along tonight, I saw that Rupert Watson has turned out his horses into that piece of land which he says is his, and which you say is yours. So therefore I say, I fear there will be trouble.”
“Trouble there will be!” answered my father. “And I am sorry for it, for the old sore
