, and
my fathers before me, for the past fifty years. And it was in
forty-three that the rints was ruz--in the time of your father, the Lord
have mercy on his soul!--but he had an agent who was a hard man, and he
ruz the rints, and since then we have been in poverty, livin' on yaller
mail and praties, and praties that is watery; there is no diet in them,
yer honour. And if yer honour will come down and walk the lands yerself,
yer wi' see I am spaking the truth. We ask nothing better than yer should
walk the lands yerself. There is two acres of my land, yer honour,
flooded for three months of the year, and for that land I am paying
twenty-five shillings an acre. I have my receipts, paid down to the last
gale-day.'

And, still speaking, the old man fumbled in his pockets and produced a
large pile of papers, which he strove to push into Mr. Barton's hand,
alluding all the while to the losses he had sustained. Two pigs had died
on him, and he had lost a fine mare and foal. His loquacity was,
however, cut short by a sturdy, middle-aged peasant standing next him.

'And I, too, yer honour, am payin' five-and-twenty shillin's for the
same flooded land. Yer honour can come down any day and see it. It is
not worth, to me, more than fifteen shillings an acre at the bare
outside. But it could be drained, for there is a fall into the marin
stream betwixt your honour's property and the Miss Brennans'. It
wouldn't cost more than forty pound, and the Miss Brennans will pay half
if yer honour will pay the other.'

Mr. Barton listened patiently to those peasant-like digressions, while
Mrs. Barton listened patiently to the Captain's fervid declarations of
love. He had begun by telling her of the anguish it had caused him to
have been denied, and three times running, admittance to Brookfield. One
whole night he had lain awake wondering what he had done to offend them.
Mrs. Barton could imagine how he had suffered, for she, he ventured to
say, must have long since guessed what were his feelings for her
daughter.

'We were very sorry to have been out, and it is so unusual that we
should be,' said Mrs. Barton, leaning forward her face insinuatingly.
'But you were speaking of Olive. We say here that there is no one like
_le beau capitaine_, no one so handsome, no one so nice, no one so
gallant, and--and--' here Mrs. Barton laughed merrily, for she thought
the bitterness of life might be so cunningly wrapped up in sweet
compliments that bo