“And now, Poyser, as Satchell is laid up, I am intending to let the Chase Farm to a respectable tenant.  I’m tired of having a farm on my own hands—­nothing is made the best of in such cases, as you know.  A satisfactory bailiff is hard to find; and I think you and I, Poyser, and your excellent wife here, can enter into a little arrangement in consequence, which will be to our mutual advantage.”

“Oh,” said Mr. Poyser, with a good-natured blankness of imagination as to the nature of the arrangement.

“If I’m called upon to speak, sir,” said Mrs. Poyser, after glancing at her husband with pity at his softness, “you know better than me; but I don’t see what the Chase Farm is t’ us—­we’ve cumber enough wi’ our own farm.  Not but what I’m glad to hear o’ anybody respectable coming into the parish; there’s some as ha’ been brought in as hasn’t been looked on i’ that character.”

“You’re likely to find Mr. Thurle an excellent neighbour, I assure you—­such a one as you will feel glad to have accommodated by the little plan I’m going to mention, especially as I hope you will find it as much to your own advantage as his.”

“Indeed, sir, if it’s anything t’ our advantage, it’ll be the first offer o’ the sort I’ve heared on.  It’s them as take advantage that get advantage i’ this world, I think.  Folks have to wait long enough afore it’s brought to ’em.”

“The fact is, Poyser,” said the squire, ignoring Mrs. Poyser’s theory of worldly prosperity, “there is too much dairy land, and too little plough land, on the Chase Farm to suit Thurle’s purpose—­indeed, he will only take the farm on condition of some change in it:  his wife, it appears, is not a clever dairy-woman, like yours.  Now, the plan I’m thinking of is to effect a little exchange.  If you were to have the Hollow Pastures, you might increase your dairy, which must be so profitable under your wife’s management; and I should request you, Mrs. Poyser, to supply my house with milk, cream, and butter at the market prices.  On the other hand, Poyser, you might let Thurle have the Lower and Upper Ridges, which really, with our wet seasons, would be a good riddance for you.  There is much less risk in dairy land than corn land.”

Mr. Poyser was leaning forward, with his elbows on his knees, his head on one side, and his mouth screwed up—­apparently absorbed in making the tips of his fingers meet so as to represent with perfect accuracy the ribs of a ship.  He was much too acute a man not to see through the whole business, and to foresee perfectly what would be his wife’s view of the subject; but he disliked giving unpleasant answers.  Unless it was on a point of farming practice, he would rather give up than have a quarrel, any day; and, after all, it mattered more to his wife than to him.  So, after a few moments’ silence, he looked up at her and said mildly, “What dost say?”

Mrs. Poyser had had her eyes fixed on her husband with cold severity during his silence, but now she turned away her head with a toss, looked icily at the opposite roof of the cow-shed, and spearing her knitting together with the loose pin, held it firmly between her clasped hands.