y
settled power, which was afraid of losing things--with all of them we
were very shy of claiming our kinship to that great outlaw.

And sure, I should pity, as well as condemn him though our ways in the
world were so different, knowing as I do his story; which knowledge,
methinks, would often lead us to let alone God's prerogative--judgment,
and hold by man's privilege--pity. Not that I would find excuse for
Tom's downright dishonesty, which was beyond doubt a disgrace to him,
and no credit to his kinsfolk; only that it came about without his
meaning any harm or seeing how he took to wrong; yet gradually knowing
it. And now, to save any further trouble, and to meet those who
disparage him (without allowance for the time or the crosses laid upon
him), I will tell the history of him, just as if he were not my cousin,
and hoping to be heeded. And I defy any man to say that a word of this
is either false, or in any way coloured by family. Much cause he had
to be harsh with the world; and yet all acknowledged him very pleasant,
when a man gave up his money. And often and often he paid the toll for
the carriage coming after him, because he had emptied their pockets, and
would not add inconvenience. By trade he had been a blacksmith, in the
town of Northmolton, in Devonshire, a rough rude place at the end of
Exmoor, so that many people marvelled if such a man was bred there. Not
only could he read and write, but he had solid substance; a piece of
land worth a hundred pounds, and right of common for two hundred sheep,
and a score and a half of beasts, lifting up or lying down. And being
left an orphan (with all these cares upon him) he began to work right
early, and made such a fame at the shoeing of horses, that the farriers
of Barum were like to lose their custom. And indeed he won a golden
Jacobus for the best-shod nag in the north of Devon, and some say that
he never was forgiven.

As to that, I know no more, except that men are jealous. But whether
it were that, or not, he fell into bitter trouble within a month of his
victory; when his trade was growing upon him, and his sweetheart ready
to marry him. For he loved a maid of Southmolton (a currier's daughter
I think she was, and her name was Betsy Paramore), and her father had
given consent; and Tom Faggus, wishing to look his best, and be clean of
course, had a tailor at work upstairs for him, who had come all the way
from Exeter. And Betsy's things were ready too--for