From where Ishmael sat the boy and his basket were hidden behind the
man, and it looked as though wherever that shining spud touched the
earth a green thing sprang up as by magic. Truly, Cloom was a farm in
the grand manner this morning, a farm fit for the slopes of Olympus.
Ishmael flogged his gate and bounced up and down till the latch rattled
in its socket and the wide collar of his little print shirt blew up
under his chin like two cherub wings supporting his glowing face.

A clatter of hoofs made him look around, and a young man rode down the
lane opposite and into the farmyard. He was a splendid young man, and he
sat the big, bare-backed horse as though he were one with it, his
powerful thighs spreading a little as they gripped its glossy sides. His
fair hair curled closely over his head and clung to his forehead in damp
rings, the sweat standing out all over his face made it shine like
metal, and the soaked shirt clung to the big muscles of his body. His
face changed a little as he caught sight of the child on the gate--such
a faint expression, something between sulkiness and resentment, that it
was obviously the result of instinctive habit and not of any particular
emotion of the moment. As he flung himself off the horse a woman emerged
from the courtyard and called out to Ishmael.

"Come and tak' th' arse to meadow for your brother, instead of wasten'
the marnen'. Couldn' 'ee be gleanen' in th' arish? You may be gentry,
but you'll go starve if you do naught but twiddle your thumbs for the
day."

"Lave en be, lave en be, mother," said Archelaus Beggoe impatiently.
"Women's clacken' never mended matters nawthen. It'll be a good day,
sure 'nough, when he goes to school to St. Renny, if it gives we a
little peace about the place. Do 'ee hold tha tongue, and give I a glass