not sell. The most part of his furniture had been brought to Ashness by
his great-grandfather.

Peter's face was brown and deeply lined, and his shoulders were bent, for
he had led a life of steady toil. This was rather from choice than stern
necessity, because he owned the farm and had money enough to cultivate it
well. As a rule, he was reserved and thoughtful, but his neighbors
trusted him. They knew he was clever, although he used their homely
dialect and lived as frugally as themselves. In the dale, one worked hard
and spent no more than one need. Yet Peter had broken the latter rule
when he resolved to give his son a wider outlook than he had had.

Kit had gone from the lonely farm to a good school where he had beaten,
by brains and resolution, the sons of professional and business men. His
teachers said he had talent, and although Peter was often lonely since
his wife died, he meant to give the lad his chance. Somewhat to his
relief, Kit decided to return to the soil, and Peter sent him to an
agricultural college. Since Kit meant to farm he should be armed by such
advantages as modern science could give. It was obvious that he would
need them all in the struggle against low prices and the inclement
weather that vexed the dale. Now he had come home, in a sense not much
changed, and Peter was satisfied. Kit and he seldom jarred, and the
dalesfolk, who did not know how like they were under the surface,
sometimes thought it strange.

Four or five of their neighbors sat in the kitchen, for the most part
smoking quietly, but now and then grumbling about the recent heavy rain.
This was not what they had come to talk about, and Peter waited. He knew
their cautious reserve; they were obstinate and slow to move, and if he
tried to hurry them might take alarm. By and by one knocked out his pipe.