experience, was not so certain of mankind.

Now in spite of the floods, and the sloughs being out, and the state of
the roads most perilous, Squire Faggus came at last, riding his famous
strawberry mare. There was a great ado between him and Annie, as you
may well suppose, after some four months of parting. And so we left them
alone awhile, to coddle over their raptures. But when they were tired of
that, or at least had time enough to do so, mother and I went in to know
what news Tom had brought with him. Though he did not seem to want us
yet, he made himself agreeable; and so we sent Annie to cook the dinner
while her sweetheart should tell us everything.

Tom Faggus had very good news to tell, and he told it with such force of
expression as made us laugh very heartily. He had taken up his purchase
from old Sir Roger Bassett of a nice bit of land, to the south of the
moors, and in the parish of Molland. When the lawyers knew thoroughly
who he was, and how he had made his money, they behaved uncommonly well
to him, and showed great sympathy with his pursuits. He put them up to a
thing or two; and they poked him in the ribs, and laughed, and said that
he was quite a boy; but of the right sort, none the less. And so they
made old Squire Bassett pay the bill for both sides; and all he got for
three hundred acres was a hundred and twenty pounds; though Tom had paid
five hundred. But lawyers know that this must be so, in spite of all
their endeavours; and the old gentleman, who now expected to find a bill
for him to pay, almost thought himself a rogue, for getting anything out
of them.

It is true that the land was poor and wild, and the soil exceeding
shallow; lying on the slope of rock, and burned up in hot summers. But
with us, hot summers are things known by tradition only (as this great
winter may be); we generally have more moisture, especially in July,
than we well know what to do with. I have known a fog for a fortnight
at the summer solstice, and farmers talking in church about it when they
ought to be praying. But it always contrives to come right in the end,
as other visitations do, if we take them as true visits, and receive
them kindly.

Now this farm of Squire Faggus (as he truly now had a right to be
called) was of the very finest pasture, when it got good store of rain.
And Tom, who had ridden the Devonshire roads with many a reeking jacket,
knew right well that he might trust the climate for that matter.