Presently Roger Nowell again stopped, and pointed to a woody brake.

“We are now come,” he said, “to a wood forming part of my property, and which from an eruption, caused by a spring, that took place in it many years ago, is called Burst Clough.”

“Exactly, sir—­exactly,” cried Potts; “Burst Clough—­I have it here—­landmarks, five grey stones, lying apart at a distance of one hundred yards or thereabouts, and giving you, sir, twenty acres of moor land.  Is it not so, Master Nicholas?  The marks are such as I have described, eh?”

“They are, sir,” replied the squire; “with this slight difference in the allotment of the land—­namely, that Mistress Nutter claims the twenty acres, while she assigns you only ten.”

“Ten devils!” cried Roger Nowell, furiously.  “Twenty acres are mine, and I will have them.”

“To the proof, then,” rejoined Nicholas.  “The first of the grey stones is here.”

“And the second on the left, in that hollow,” said Roger Nowell.  “Come on, my masters, come on.”

“Ay, come on!” cried Nicholas; “this perambulation will be rare sport.  Who wins, for a piece of gold, cousin Richard?”

“Nay, I will place no wager on the event,” replied the young man.

“Well, as you please,” cried the squire; “but I would lay five to one that Mistress Nutter beats the magistrate.”

Meanwhile, the whole troop having set forward, they soon arrived at the second stone.  Grey and moss-grown, it was deeply imbedded in the soil, and to all appearance had rested undisturbed for many a year.

“You measure from the clough, I presume, sir?” remarked Potts to Nowell.

“To be sure,” replied the magistrate; “but how is this?—­This stone seems to me much nearer the clough than it used to be.”

“Yeigh, so it dun, mester,” observed old Mitton.

“It does not appear to have been disturbed, at all events,” said Nicholas, dismounting and examining it.

“It would seem not,” said Nowell—­“and yet it certainly is not in its old place.”

“Yo are mistaen, mester,” observed Jem Device; “ey knoa th’ lond weel, an this stoan has stood where it does fo’ t’ last twenty year.  Ha’n’t it, neeburs?”

“Yeigh—­yeigh,” responded several voices.

“Well, let us go on to the next stone,” said Potts, looking rather blank.

Accordingly they went forward, the hinds exchanging significant looks, and Roger Nowell and Nicholas carefully examining their respective maps.

“These landmarks exactly tally with my plan,” said the squire, as they arrived at the third stone.

“But not with mine,” said Nowell; “this stone ought to be two hundred yards to the right.  Some trickery has been practised.”

“Impossible!” exclaimed the squire; “these ponderous masses could never have been moved.  Besides, there are several persons here who know every inch of the ground, and will give you their unbiassed testimony.  What say you, my men?  Are these the old boundary stones?”