Bill Brookes wants to play first fiddle here; but he can't and won't.

I'm foreman; and if I've on'y got a little body, Master Nic, I've got a will as big as Bill Brookes's, and bigger too.

Now I'll go and feed the pigs." This highly interesting piece of business was gone through, Samson mixing up some meal and water, pouring it into the troughs, and belabouring the greedy animals with the mealy stick.
"Take your feet out o' the stuff, will yer ?" he roared.

"They do make good pork and bacon and ham, Master Nic, but they are about the savagest, fiercest things I know.

Fine pigs, though, ain't they?
Come on: I want to see if that chap's getting on with the milking." Sam led the way to a shed with open side, where the black whom Nic had seen on the previous day was busy milking; the thick, rich milk given by one of half a dozen beautifully clean cows descending in its double stream, _quisk_--_whish_, and frothing up in the white pail.
"Take some in to White Mary soon," said Samson, and the man raised his shining black face and grinned.
"I say, why do you say White Mary ?" asked Nic, as they left the cow-shed.