diminished numbers pay for her daring and proclaim its success to those
who jeered and doubted.

Certainly those lambs which had survived their birth now promised well.
They were bigger than the purebred Kent lambs, and seemed hardy enough.
Joanna watched them grow, and broke away from Marsh tradition to the
extent of giving them cake--she was afraid they might turn bony.

As the summer advanced she pointed them out triumphantly to one or two
farmers. They were fine animals, she said, and justified her experiment,
though she would never repeat it on account of the cost; she did not
expect to do more than cover her expenses.

"You'll be lucky if you do that," said Prickett rather brutally, "they
look middling poor in wool."

Joanna was not discouraged, nor even offended, for she interpreted all
Prickett's remarks in the light of Great Ansdore's jealousy of Little
Ansdore.

Later on Martha Tilden told her that they were saying much the same at
the Woolpack.

"I don't care what they say at the Woolpack," cried Joanna, "and what
business have you to know what they say there? I don't like my gals
hanging around pubs."

"I didn't hang aräound, ma'am. 'Twas Socknersh töald me."

"Socknersh had no business to tell you--it's no concern of yours."