a place where I may well descry the dwelling of these scoundrel
Doones, and learn the best way to get at them, when the time shall come.
Can you do this for me? I will pay you well, boy.'

I promised very readily to do my best to serve him, but, of course,
would take no money for it, not being so poor as that came to.
Accordingly, on the day following, I managed to set the men at work on
the other side of the farm, especially that inquisitive and busybody
John Fry, who would pry out almost anything for the pleasure of telling
his wife; and then, with Uncle Reuben mounted on my ancient Peggy, I
made foot for the westward, directly after breakfast. Uncle Ben refused
to go unless I would take a loaded gun, and indeed it was always wise
to do so in those days of turbulence; and none the less because of late
more than usual of our sheep had left their skins behind them. This, as
I need hardly say, was not to be charged to the appetite of the Doones,
for they always said that they were not butchers (although upon that
subject might well be two opinions); and their practice was to make the
shepherds kill and skin, and quarter for them, and sometimes carry to
the Doone-gate the prime among the fatlings, for fear of any bruising,
which spoils the look at table. But the worst of it was that ignorant
folk, unaware of their fastidiousness, scored to them the sheep they
lost by lower-born marauders, and so were afraid to speak of it: and the
issue of this error was that a farmer, with five or six hundred sheep,
could never command, on his wedding-day, a prime saddle of mutton for
dinner.

To return now to my Uncle Ben--and indeed he would not let me go more
than three land-yards from him--there was very little said between us
along the lane and across the hill, although the day was pleasant. I
could see that he was half amiss with his mind about the business,
and not so full of security as an elderly man should keep himself.
Therefore, out I spake, and said,--

'Uncle Reuben, have no fear. I know every inch of the ground, sir; and
there is no danger nigh us.'

'Fear, boy! Who ever thought of fear? 'Tis the last thing would come
across me. Pretty things those primroses.'

At once I thought of Lorna Doone, the little maid of six years back, and
how my fancy went with her. Could Lorna ever think of me? Was I not a
lout gone by, only fit for loach-sticking? Had I ever seen a face fit to
think of near her? The sudden flash, the quic