Knarler had been a slaughterman at Cranbrook, but had been discharged from his post for cruelty. He was the type
that Finn needed. A man not to be bullied by the local opinion against him, for he assured Finn in the strongest
terms that he feared neither God nor man, and had no terror for old curses. He even expressed the hope that the
scarecrow might oppose him in person so that he could knock him out and carry him before a Justice of the Peace.
“For I can do with that there reward upon his head,” he laughed.
On inspecting the Knoll he assured the farmer that although he could do it singlehanded, if need be, it would take
some time. Indeed he planned to make the job as long as possible, since it was double money an hour.
Needing money, Finn allowed him a little in advance, so that he could refresh himself at the ‘Walnut Tree.’
The landlord of the inn, however, happened to be the Aldington agent for the Scarecrow, and told Knarler plainly
that strangers were not very welcome by his patrons.
Knarler pointed out that so long as he kept sober and paid his way no landlord could refuse him service.
Shunned by the villagers, s though he had the plague, Knarler thought of a good way to retaliate. He went to his
employer and asked for authority to make Finn’s tenants help in the work.
“I tell you they are stubborn, and will neither be persuaded nor compelled,” replied Finn. “Besides, they are
afraid of the Scarecrow. That’s obvious. They will refuse.”
“Not is you give them notice to give up their cottages,” laughed Knarler. “If I begin throwing their furniture,
women and children into the village street. You own the cottages and there would be no shelter for them. That
would make their men work, and under me, as your foreman, they’ll work hard.”
To do him justice, Farmer Finn was horrified at the man’s brutality. Angry and obstinate over the whole
business, he would not tolerate such cruelty to gain his ends.
Knarler tried to persuade him to his way of thinking, because he had stupidly boasted of what was going to
happen to the tenants at the inn, and when the farmer’s refusal to this tyranny became known, they would laugh at
him for his failure, and hate him for the instigation of such a plot.
When Knarler first mounted the Knoll, armed with pick, spade and shovel, he was conscious that every eye in the
village was watching him, so to cheat them of a view of his proceedings, he climbed over the summit and started to
work a few feet below upon the sea side. This was also more convenient as Finn’s sheep were grazing on the land
side. One of the Scarecrow’s men was glad of this, since it saved him from a climb and having to bear a message to
Knarler, for his orders had been explicit.
“It is necessary for the Scarecrow’s plan that the cutting on the Knoll shall start on the sea side. Should this
Knarler begin work upon the land side, you will take him orders from Farmer Finn to start on the sea side. As one
of Finn’s tenants and farm laborers, he will not suspect this order as coming from any other than your master.”
For what reason the Scarecrow had given this order the fellow could not guess, but the loathing that everyone felt
for Knarler since his plan of unhousing women and children, made him glad that he could avoid the contact of the
message. Greatly relieved, he left his station at the foot of the Knoll, and went back to the ‘Walnut Tree.’
He found the friendly old bar parlor filled with men discussing Knarler with animosity. They had begun to drink
early because they knew he was away working and that the ‘Walnut’ would be sweet again without him.
“Why trouble yourselves with him?” advised the man who was to have been the Scarecrow’s messenger. “He
can only bring harm to himself by doing work for Finn’s money that is accursed. And we mustn’t blame Finn too
much. He’s obstinate over this, but he’d sooner be paying us his money that him from Cranbrook. At least Finn did
not fall in with his devilry about turning us out under the sky. Finn has too much of his family in him to be a bad
landlord to us.”
“And that’s true enough,” echoed the landlord of the ‘Walnut Tree.’
“And let us not trouble our peace about this Knarler,” went on the other. “He’ll work out his own damnation,
you’ll see.”
Meanwhile Knarler worked on alone, and as he thought unwatched. He was determined to surprise his employer
as to his capacity. At least on the first day of the job. He determined not to return to Cranbrook till he had money
enough to make all envious, and with which to settle old scores. He would make himself a power with this Finn,
and cause the lazy village of Aldington to dance vigorously to his tune. Every swinging stroke of his pick into the
chalk he imagined to be the cleaving of one of their skulls. Cleaning a filled-in pit of old rubbish, he picked out a
large piece of broken pottery. It was the broken portion of an earthenware basin. He flung it vigorously over his
head without looking round though he knew it would fall into the deep ravine behind him, and hoped that it might
land on somebody’s head and knock them senseless. He worked on with pick, spade and shovel. He would show
these lazy ones what work he could do. He had climbed the Knoll with plenty of strong drink and hunks of bread
and cheese. He vowed he would go on till dark.
He kept laughing to himself when he thought of the villagers’ dread of the curse. That sort of nonsense would
not worry him. But some little time after he had thrown away the pottery, he had a curiously uneasy feeling that he
was being watched from behind. He told himself that he was not going to be upset by anyone. Neither was he the
sort of man to get jumpy. So he filled another shovelful and turned to throw it into space. But he did not throw it,
because what he saw so astonished him that he let the load slip from the tool. Close behind him stood a tall blackcoated figure of a man, whose eyes seemed to be piercing his soul, or rather seeking for the soul which he had lost.
In his hands this arresting figure held the piece of broken basin. Knarler told himself that he had evidently hit this
individual with the pottery, and that he had come up as an injured party to protest.
“What do you want?” growled Knarler.
“This piece of terra -cotta,” replied the other in a pleasant voice. “I am quite sure that Farmer Finn will let me
have it, as I think such a relic will not interest him very much. Of course I want to reward you for having unearthed
such a unique piece. See, my man, here is half a spade guinea. You shall have another if you can find the rest of
this.”
Knarler felt nothing but scorn for him now, though at first he had all but been frightened at his sudden
appearance.
“You keep it if you’ve a fancy for broken crockery,” he said. “But make good your promise. Where’s the half
guinea?”
The bla ckcoated one casually tossed a gold coin across to him. It fell on the grass at Knarler’s feet. The
astounded ex-slaughterman picked it up, bit it, and found that it was good currency. Then this mad-brained
generosity made him suspicious.
“Who are you, and where did you come from?” he demanded.
“I climbed the Knoll to see what kind of god was raining such treasures from above,” he replied. “I climbed
faster than my servant who is following me.” He turned and addressed someone over the brink. “Let me lend you a
hand, my good Mipps.”
“I can manage nicely, sir,” grunted another blackcoated man who scrambled up into Knarler’s sight. This