The fruits had ripened fast. In the strawberry beds were great strawberries like pears. The marrows lay on their dunghill like bloated bolsters, gleaming from a distant shaft of light. In the orchard, the trees creaked, weighed down by distorted footballs that passed for apples; with a heavy autumnal thud one fell over-ripe to the ground. Everywhere on the farm,, there seemed to be slight movement and noise, so much so that Gregory stopped to listen.
A wind was rising. The sails of the old mill shrieked like a gull’s cry as they began to turn. In the engine house, the steam engine pumped out its double unfaltering note as it generated power. The dogs still raged, the animals added their uneasy chorus. He recalled the saliva tree; here as in the dream, it was as if agriculture had become industry, and the impulses of nature swallowed by the new god of Science. In the bark of the trees rose the dark steam of novel and unknown forces.
He talked himself into pressing forward again. He moved carefully through the baffling slices of shadow and illumination created by the screens and lights, and arrived near the back door of the farmhouse. A lantern burnt in the kitchen window.
As Gregory hesitated, the crunch of broken glass came from within.
Cautiously, he edged himself past the window and peered in through the doorway. From the parlor, he heard the voice of Grendon. It held a curious muffled tone, as if the man spoke to himself.
“Lie there! You’re no use to me. This is a trial of strength. Oh God, preserve me, to let me prove myself! Thou has made my land barren till nownow let me harvest it! I don’t know what You’re doing. I didn’t mean to presume, but this here farm is my life. Curse ‘em, curse ‘em all! They’re all enemies.” There was more of it; the man was muttering like one drunk. With horrid fascination, Gregory was drawn forward till he had crossed the kitchen flags and stood on the verge of the larger room. He peered round the half open door until he could see the farmer, standing obscurely in the middle of the room.
A candle stood in the neglected hearth, its flickering flame glassily reflected in the cases of maladroit animals. Evidently the house electricity had been cut off to give additional power to the new lights outside.
Grendon’s back was to Gregory. One gaunt and unshaven cheek was lit by candle-light. His back seemed a little bent by the weight of what he imagined his duties, yet looking at that leather-clad back now Gregory experienced a sort of reverence for the independence of the man, and for the mystery that lay under his plainness. He watched as Grendon moved out through the front door, leaving it hanging wide, and passed into the yard, still muttering to himself. He walked round the side of the house and was hidden from view as the sound of his tread was lost amid the renewed barking of dogs.
The tumult did not drown a groan from near at hand.
Peering into the shadows, Gregory saw a body lying under the table. It-rolled over, crunching broken glass as it did so, and exclaimed in a dazed way. Without being able to see clearly, Gregory knew it was Neckland. He climbed over to the man and propped his head up, kicking away a stuffed fish as he did so.
“Don’t kill me, bor! I only want to get away from here.”
“Bert? It’s Greg here. Bert, are you badly hurt?”
He could see some wounds. The fellow’s shirt had been practically torn from his back, and the flesh on his side and back was cut from where he had rolled in the glass. More serious was a great weal over one shoulder, changing to a deeper color as Gregory looked at it.
Wiping his face and speaking in a more rational voice, Neckland said, “Gregory? I thought as you was down Cotter-sail? What you doing here? He’ll kill you proper if he finds you here!”
“What happened to you, Bert? Can you get up?”
The laborer was again in possession of his faculties. He grabbed Gregory’s forearm and said imploringly, “Keep your voice down, for Christ’s sake, or he’ll hear Us and come back and settle my hash for once for all! He’s gone clean off his head, says as these pond things are having a holiday here. He nearly knocked my head off my shoulder with that stick of his! Lucky I got a thick head!”