ined as large a measure of damages as his solicitor
had led him to anticipate, but he was triumphant, and that over a man
like Snooks was something. So the damages were forgotten beneath that
peaceful August sky. How bright the corn looked! There was not a
particle of "smut" in the whole field. And it was a good breadth of
wheat this year for Southwood Farm. The barley too, was evidently fit
for malting, and would be sure to fetch a decent price: especially as
they seemed to say there was not much barley this year that was quite up
to the mark for malting. The swedes, too, were coming on apace, and a
little rain by and by would make them swell considerably. So everything
looked exceedingly prosperous, except perhaps the stock. There certainly
were not so many pigs. Out of a stye of eleven there was only one left.
The sow was nowhere to be seen. She had been sold, it appeared, so no
more were to be expected from that quarter. When Mr. Bumpkin asked where
"old Jack" was (that was the donkey), he was informed that "the man" had
fetched it. "The man" it appeared was always fetching something.
Yesterday it was pigs; the day before it was ducks; the day before that
it was geese; and about a week ago it was a stack of this year's hay: a
stack of very prime clover indeed. Then "the man" took a fancy to some
cheeses which Mrs. Bumpkin had in the dairy, some of her very finest
make. She remonstrated, but "the man" was peremptory. But what most
surprised Mr. Bumpkin, and drew tears from Mrs. Bumpkin's eyes, was when
the successful litigant enquired how the bull was.

Mrs. Bumpkin had invented many plans with a view to "breaking this out"
to her husband: and now that the time had come every plan was a failure.
The tears betrayed her.

"What, be he dead?" enquired Mr. Bumpkin.

"O, no, Tom--no, no--"

"Well, what then?"

"The man!"

"The man! The devil's in thic man, who be he? Where do ur come from?
I'll bring an action agin him as sure's he's alive or shoot un dead wi my
gun;" here Mr. Bumpkin, in a great rage, got up and went to the beam
which ran across the kitchen ceiling, and formed what is called the
roof-tree of the house, by the side of which the gun was suspended by two
loops.

"No, no, Tom, don't--don't--we have never wronged any one yet, and
don't--don't now."

"But I wool," said Bumpkin; "what! be I to be stripped naaked and not
fight for th' cloathes--who be thic feller as took the bull?"