“A proper auld rogue’s-roost of dirt ’tis just now,” said Will; “but a few pound spent in the right way will do a deal for it.”

“An’ soap an’ water more,” declared Mrs. Blanchard, escaping from her reverie.  “What’s to be spent landlord must spend,” she continued.  “A little whitewash, and some plaster to fill them holes wheer woodwork’s poking through the ceiling, an’ you’ll be vitty again.  ’Tis lonesome-like now, along o’ being deserted, an’ you’ll hear the rats galloping an’ gallyarding by night, but ’twill soon be all it was again—­a dear li’l auld plaace, sure enough!”

She eyed the desolation affectionately.

“Theer’s money in it, any way, for what wan man can do another can.”

“Aye, I hope so, I b’lieve ‘tis so; but you’ll have to live hard, an’ work hard, an’ be hard, if you wants to prosper here.  Your gran’faither stood to the work like a giant, an’ the sharpest-fashion weather hurt him no worse than if he’d been a granite tor.  Steel-built to his heart’s core, an’ needed to be.”

“An’ I be a stern, far-seein’ man, same as him.  ’Tis generally knawn I’m no fule; and my heart’s grawed hard, tu of late days, along wi’ the troubles life’s brought.”

She shook her head.

“You’m your faither’s son, not your gran’faither’s.  Tim was flesh an’ blood, same as you.  T’other was stone.  Stone’s best, when you’ve got to fight wi’ stone; but if flesh an’ blood suffers more, it joys more, tu.  I wouldn’t have ’e differ’nt—­not to them as loves ’e, any way.”

“I sha’n’t change; an’ if I did to all the world else, ’twouldn’t be to you, mother.  You knaw that, I reckon.  I’m hopeful; I’m more; I’m ’bout as certain of fair fortune as a man can be.  Venwell rights[6] be mine, and theer’s no better moorland grazing than round these paarts.  The farm-land looks a bit foul, along o’ being let go to rack, but us’ll soon have that clean again, an’ some gude stuff into it, tu.  My awn work’ll be staring me in the faace before summer; an’ by the time Phoebe do come to be mistress, nobody’ll knaw Newtake, I promise ’e.”

[6] Venwell rights = Venville rights.

Mrs. Blanchard viewed with some uneasiness the spectacle of valley-born and valley-nurtured Phoebe taking up her abode on the high lands.  For herself she loved them well, and the Moor possessed no terrors for her; but she had wit to guess that her daughter-in-law would think and feel differently.  Indeed, neither woman nor man might reasonably be blamed for viewing the farm without delight when first brought within the radius of its influence.