fireplace.  I sighed sometimes about Lorna, and they thought it was about the plates.  And mother would stand and look at me, as much as to say, “No pleasing him”; and Lizzie would jerk up one shoulder, and cry, “He had better have Lorna to cook for him”; while the whole truth was that I wanted not to be plagued about any cookery; but just to have something good and quiet, and then smoke and think about Lorna.

Nevertheless the time went on, with one change and another; and we gathered all our harvest in; and Parson Bowden thanked God for it, both in church and out of it; for his tithes would be very goodly.  The unmatched cold of the previous winter, and general fear of scarcity, and our own talk about our ruin, had sent prices up to a grand high pitch; and we did our best to keep them there.  For nine Englishmen out of every ten believe that a bitter winter must breed a sour summer, and explain away topmost prices.  While according to my experience, more often it would be otherwise, except for the public thinking so.  However, I have said too much; and if any farmer reads my book, he will vow that I wrote it for nothing else except to rob his family.

CHAPTER LXII

THE KING MUST NOT BE PRAYED FOR

[Illustration:  575.jpg Lynmouth]

All our neighbourhood was surprised that the Doones had not ere now attacked, and probably made an end of us.  For we lay almost at their mercy now, having only Sergeant Bloxham, and three men, to protect us, Captain Stickles having been ordered southwards with all his force; except such as might be needful for collecting toll, and watching the imports at Lynmouth, and thence to Porlock.  The Sergeant, having now imbibed a taste for writing reports (though his first great effort had done him no good, and only offended Stickles), reported weekly from Plover’s Barrows, whenever he could find a messenger.  And though we fed not Sergeant Bloxham at our own table, with the best we had (as in the case of Stickles, who represented His Majesty), yet we treated him so well, that he reported very highly of us, as loyal and true-hearted lieges, and most devoted to our lord the King.  And indeed he could scarcely have done less, when Lizzie wrote great part of his reports, and furbished up the rest to such a pitch of lustre, that Lord Clarendon himself need scarce have been ashamed of them.  And though this cost a great deal of ale, and even of strong waters (for Lizzie would have it the duty of a critic to stand treat to the author), and though it was otherwise a plague, as giving the maid such airs of patronage, and such pretence to politics; yet there was no stopping it, without the risk of mortal offence to both writer and reviewer.  Our mother also, while disapproving Lizzie’s long stay in the saddle-room on a Friday night and a Saturday, and insisting that Betty should be there, was nevertheless as proud as need be, that the King should read our Eliza’ s writings—­at least so the innocent soul believed—­and we all looked forward to something great as the fruit of all this history.  And something great did come of it, though not as we expected; for these reports, or as many of them as were ever opened, stood us in good stead the next year, when we were accused of harbouring and comforting guilty rebels.