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. The
herbage was of the very sweetest, and the shortest, and the closest,
having perhaps from ten to eighteen inches of wholesome soil between it
and the solid rock. Tom saw at once what it was fit for--the breeding of
fine cattle.

Being such a hand as he was at making the most of everything, both his
own and other people's (although so free in scattering, when the
humour lay upon him) he had actually turned to his own advantage that
extraordinary weather which had so impoverished every one around him.
For he taught his Winnie (who knew his meaning as well as any child
could, and obeyed not only his word of mouth, but every glance he
gave her) to go forth in the snowy evenings when horses are seeking
everywhere (be they wild or tame) for fodder and for shelter; and to
whinny to the forest ponies, miles away from home perhaps, and lead
them all with rare appetites and promise of abundance, to her master's
homestead. He shod good Winnie in such a manner that she could not sink
in the snow; and he clad her over the loins with a sheep-skin dyed to
her own colour, which the wild horses were never tired of coming up and
sniffing at; taking it for an especial gift, and proof of inspiration.
And Winnie never came home at night without at least a score of ponies
trotting shyly after her, tossing their heads and their tails in turn,
and making believ