own his carriage; sold his
horses; discharged his liveried servants; and, to the astonishment of
his wondering neighbors, let the noble park to a rich farmer in the
parish, with permission to break it up with the plough. He no longer
suffered the produce of his extensive gardens to be consumed in the
house, or given to the poor; but sold the fruit and vegetables to any
petty greengrocer in the village, who thought it worth his while to walk
up to the Hall, and drive a bargain with the stingy Squire. He not only
assisted in gathering the fruit, for fear he should be robbed, but often
acted as scarecrow to the birds, whom he reviled as noisy, useless
nuisances, vexatiously sent to destroy the fruits of the earth.

Elinor gently remonstrated with him on the meanness and absurdity of
such conduct; but he silenced what he termed her impertinent
interference in matters which did not concern her. He bade her to
remember that she brought him no fortune, and he was forced to make
these retrenchments in order to support her. After this confession,
there was no end to his savings. He discharged his remaining domestics;
sold most of the splendid furniture by public auction; and, finally,
shut up the Hall to avoid paying the window-tax, only allowing the
kitchen, one parlor, and two bed-rooms to be visited by the light of
day. The only person whom he allowed to approach the house was the
gardener, Grenard Pike, who rented a small cottage at the end of the
avenue that led to the back premises of the once noble mansion.

This favored individual was the Squire in low life; and the gossip
dealers in the village did not scruple to affirm that the likeness was
not _merely_ accidental; that Grenard Pike was brother to the Squire in
a natural way; but whether this report were true or false, he and his
master, if unrelated by blood, possessed kindred spirits, and perfectly
understood and appreciated each other. This man had neither wife nor
child, and the whole business of his life was how to get money, and,
when got, how to turn it to the best advantage. If the Squire was
attached to anything in the world, it was to this faithful satellite,
this humble transcript of himself.

The wretched Elinor, shut out from all society, and denied every
domestic comfort, was limited by her stingy partner to the awkward
attendance of a parish girl, who, together with her mistress, he
contrived to half starve; as he insisted on keeping the key of the
pa