The farm-yard was well stocked; under a shed was a taxed cart, in trim order, in which Ready-Money Jack took his wife about the country.  His well-fed horse neighed from the stable, and when led out into the yard, to use the words of young Jack, “he shone like a bottle;” for he said the old man made it a rule that everything about him should fare as well as he did himself.

[Illustration:  “He shone like a bottle”]

I was pleased to see the pride which the young fellow seemed to have of his father.  He gave us several particulars concerning his habits, which were pretty much to the effect of those I have already mentioned.  He had never suffered an account to stand in his life, always providing the money before he purchased anything; and, if possible, paying in gold and silver.  He had a great dislike to paper money, and seldom went without a considerable sum in gold about him.  On my observing that it was a wonder he had never been waylaid and robbed, the young fellow smiled at the idea of any one venturing upon such an exploit, for I believe he thinks the old man would be a match for Robin Hood and all his gang.

I have noticed that Master Simon seldom goes into any house without having a world of private talk with some one or other of the family, being a kind of universal counsellor and confidant.  We had not been long at the farm before the old dame got him into a corner of her parlour, where they had a long whispering conference together; in which I saw by his shrugs that there were some dubious matters discussed, and by his nods that he agreed with everything she said.

After we had come out, the young man accompanied us a little distance, and then, drawing Master Simon aside into a green lane, they walked and talked together for nearly half-an-hour.  Master Simon, who has the usual propensity of confidants to blab everything to the next friend they meet with, let me know that there was a love affair in question; the young fellow having been smitten with the charms of Phoebe Wilkins, the pretty niece of the housekeeper at the Hall.  Like most other love concerns, it had brought its troubles and perplexities.  Dame Tibbets had long been on intimate gossiping terms with the housekeeper, who often visited the farm-house; but when the neighbours spoke to her of the likelihood of a match between her son and Phoebe Wilkins, “Marry come up!” she scouted the very idea.  The girl had acted as lady’s maid, and it was beneath the blood of the Tibbetses, who had lived on their own lands time out of mind, and owed reverence and thanks to nobody, to have the heir-apparent marry a servant!

These vapourings had faithfully been carried to the housekeeper’s ear by one of the mutual go-between friends.  The old housekeeper’s blood, if not as ancient, was as quick as that of Dame Tibbets.

She had been accustomed to carry a high head at the Hall and among the villagers; and her faded brocade rustled with indignation at the slight cast upon her alliance by the wife of a petty farmer.  She maintained that her niece had been a companion rather than a waiting-maid to the young ladies.  “Thank heavens, she was not obliged to work for her living, and was as idle as any young lady in the land; and when somebody died, would receive something that would be worth the notice of some folks with all their ready money.”