No, they did not
owe a penny of rent, they said. Remember there was only one harvest
between them and the famine year. They had also put in the crops in
their little holdings, they said, "but as God lives we have neither bite
nor sup to keep us till harvest time." The sub-sheriff asked why they
did not go to a certain dealer. They said the terms were so hard that
they could never pay him. "How much would keep you till the crops come
in," he asked. Two hundred of Indian meal for each they said. Finally he
promised them one hundred each on credit, even if he had to pay it out
of his own pocket. "That is what you will have to do," said the agent.
We left and drove home. We saw the police, hot and tired, march past to
their barracks after our return. These men had a long march, loaded down
with arms to protect the bailiff, the stalwart agent, the rosy sub-
sheriff from a crowd of five hunger-bitten peaceable men and three
ragged women. The whole crowd might have been put to flight by any one
of the three with one hand tied behind him.
I forgot to mention that the agent offered to one of the women there all
the tenant's poor things that were thrown out, which was an honest and
honorable proceeding on his part, and very generous.
