His rebellion against the conditions of their lives, above all against the manifold petty tyrannies that he knew they underwent, came from use of his eyes and ears in daily contact with a class among whom he had been more or less brought up.

In sympathy with, and yet not of them, he had the queer privilege of feeling their slights as if they were his own, together with feelings of protection, and even of contempt that they should let themselves be slighted.

He was near enough to understand how they must feel; not near enough to understand why, feeling as they did, they did not act as he would have acted.

In truth, he knew them no better than he should.
He found Tryst washing at his pump.

In the early morning light the big laborer's square, stubborn face, with its strange, dog-like eyes, had a sodden, hungry, lost look.