"

"We know all about him," the farmer answered; "and that is something to
begin with. His land is worth fifteen shillings an acre less than ours,
and full of kid-bine. But, for all that, he can keep a family, and is a
good home-dweller. However, like the rest of us, in the way of women, he
must bide his bolt, and bode it."

"Father," the mistress of the house replied, "I shall never go one step
out of my way to encourage a young man who makes you speak so lightly of
those you owe so much to. Harry Tanfield may take his chance for me."

"So a' may for me, mother--so a' may for me. If a' was to have our Mary,
his father George would be coming up between us, out of his peace
in churchyard, more than he doth a'ready; and a' comes too much
a'ready.--Why, poppet, we were talking of you--fie, fie, listening!"

"No, now, father," Mary Anerley answered, with a smile at such a low
idea; "you never had that to find fault with me, I think. And if you are
plotting against me for my good--as mother loves to put it--it would be
the best way to shut me out before you begin to do it."

"Why, bless my heart and soul," exclaimed the farmer, with a most crafty
laugh--for he meant to kill two birds with one stone--"if the lass
hathn't got her own dear mother's tongue, and the very same way of
turning things! There never hath been such a time as this here. The
childer tell us what to do, and their mothers tell us what not to do.
Better take the business off my hands, and sell all they turnips as is
rotting. Women is cheats, and would warrant 'em sound, with the best to
the top of the bury. But mind you one thing--if I retires from business,
like Brother Popplewell, I shall expect to be supported; cheap, but very
substantial."

"Mary, you are wicked to say such things," Mistress Anerley began, as
he went out, "when you know that your dear father is such a substantial
silent man."

CHAPTER XLIX

A BOLD ANGLER

As if in vexation at being thwarted by one branch of the family, Cupid
began to work harder at the other, among the moors and mountains. Not
that either my lady Philippa or gentle Mistress Carnaby fell back into
the snares of youth, but rather that youth, contemptuous of age, leaped
up, and defied everybody but itself, and cried tush to its own welfare.

For as soon as the trance of snow was gone, and the world, emboldened to
behold itself again, smiled up from genial places; and the timid step of
peeping spring awoke