Farmers must farm now, or sink; and by George! they are farming, like sensible fellows:  and a fig for that old turnip ghost of Protection!  There was a fellow came down from the Carlton—­you know what that is!” Stangrave bowed, and smiled assent.  “From the Carlton, sir, two years since, and tried it on, till he fell in with old Mark.  I told him a thing or two; among the rest, told him to his face that he was a liar; for he wanted to make farmers believe they were ruined, when he knew they were not; and that he’d get ’em back Protection, when he knew that he couldn’t—­and, what’s more, he didn’t mean to.  So he cut up rough, and wanted to call me out.”

“Did you go?” asked Stangrave, who was fast becoming amused with his man,

“I told him that that wasn’t my line, unless he’d try Eley’s greens at forty yards; and then I was his man:  but if he laid a finger on me, I’d give him as sound a horsewhipping, old as I am, as ever man had in his life.  And so I would.”  And Mark looked complacently at his own broad shoulders.  “And since then, my lord and I have had it all our own way; and Minchampstead and Co. is the only firm in the vale.”

“What’s become of a Lord Vieuxbois, who used to live somewhere hereabouts?  I used to meet him at Rome.”

“Rome?” said Mark solemnly.  “Yes; he was too fond of Rome, awhile back:  can’t see what people want running into foreign parts to look at those poor idolators, and their Punch and Judy plays.  Pray for ’em, and keep clear of them, is the best rule:—­but he has married my lord’s youngest daughter; and three pretty children he has,—­ducks of children.  Always comes to see me in my shop, when he drives into town.  Oh!—­he’s doing pretty well.—­One of these new between-the-stools, Peelites they call them—­hope they’ll be as good as the name.  However, he’s a freetrader, because he can’t help it.  So we have his votes; and as to his Conservatism, let him conserve hips and haws if he chooses, like a ’pothecary.  After all, why pull down anything, before it’s tumbling on your head?  By the by, sir, as you’re a man of money, there’s that Stangrave-end farm in the market now.  Pretty little investment,—­I’d see that you got it cheap; and my lord wouldn’t bid against you, of course, as you’re a liberal—­all Americans, are, I suppose.  And so you’d oblige us, as well as yourself, for it would give us another vote for the county.”

“Upon my word, you tempt me; but I do not think that this is just the moment for an American to desert his own country, and settle in England.  I should not be here now, had I not this autumn done all I could for America in America, and so crossed the sea to serve her, if possible, in England.”

“Well, perhaps not; especially if you’re a Fremonter.”

“I am, I assure you.”

“Thought as much, by your looks.  Don’t see what else an honest man can be just now.”

Stangrave laughed.  “I hope every one thinks so in England.”