But this is all by the way; and for the egotism which is, I fear me, displayed in this foreword, I can but plead, not only the difficulty of writing a preface at all, when one has no personal inclination that way, but the nervousness which must beset a writer who is directly addressing not a tried and friendly public, but an unknown, and, it may be, less easily pleased and more critical audience.  It appears to me that it would be a simpler thing to write another book; and I would rather do so.  I can only hope that some of the readers of “Peter’s Mother,” if she is so happy as to find favour in American eyes, would rather I did so too; in I which case I shall very joyfully try to gratify their wishes, and my own.

Betty de La pasture.

PETER’S MOTHER

CHAPTER I

Above Youlestone village, overlooking the valley and the river, and the square-towered church, stood Barracombe House, backed by Barracombe Woods, and owned by Sir Timothy Crewys, of Barracombe.

From the terrace before his windows Sir Timothy could take a bird’s-eye view of his own property, up the river and down the river; while he also had the felicity of beholding the estate of his most important neighbour, Colonel Hewel, of Hewelscourt, mapped out before his eyes, as plainly visible in detail as land on the opposite side of a narrow valley must always be.

He cast no envious glances at his neighbour’s property.  The Youle was a boundary which none could dispute, and which could only be conveniently crossed by the ferry, for the nearest bridge was seven miles distant, at Brawnton, the old post-town.

From Brawnton the coach still ran once a week for the benefit of the outlying villages, and the single line of rail which threaded the valley of the Youle in the year 1900 was still a novelty to the inhabitants of this unfrequented part of Devon.

Sir Timothy sometimes expressed a majestic pity for Colonel Hewel, because the railway ran through some of his neighbour’s best fields; and also because Hewelscourt was on the wrong side of the river—­faced due north—­and was almost buried in timber.  But Colonel Hewel was perfectly satisfied with his own situation, though sorry for Sir Timothy, who lived within full view of the railway, but was obliged to drive many miles round by Brawnton Bridge in order to reach the station.

The two gentlemen seldom met.  They lived in different parishes, and administered justice in different directions.  Sir Timothy’s dignity did not permit him to make use of the ferry, and he rarely drove further than Brawnton, or rode much beyond the boundaries of his own estate.  He cared only for farming, whilst Colonel Hewel was devoted to sport.