“Poyser is not at home, is he?” said Captain Donnithorne, seating himself where he could see along the short passage to the open dairy-door.

“No, sir, he isn’t; he’s gone to Rosseter to see Mr. West, the factor, about the wool.  But there’s Father i’ the barn, sir, if he’d be of any use.”

“No, thank you; I’ll just look at the whelps and leave a message about them with your shepherd.  I must come another day and see your husband; I want to have a consultation with him about horses.  Do you know when he’s likely to be at liberty?”

“Why, sir, you can hardly miss him, except it’s o’ Treddles’on market-day—­that’s of a Friday, you know.  For if he’s anywhere on the farm we can send for him in a minute.  If we’d got rid o’ the Scantlands, we should have no outlying fields; and I should be glad of it, for if ever anything happens, he’s sure to be gone to the Scantlands.  Things allays happen so contrairy, if they’ve a chance; and it’s an unnat’ral thing to have one bit o’ your farm in one county and all the rest in another.”

“Ah, the Scantlands would go much better with Choyce’s farm, especially as he wants dairyland and you’ve got plenty.  I think yours is the prettiest farm on the estate, though; and do you know, Mrs. Poyser, if I were going to marry and settle, I should be tempted to turn you out, and do up this fine old house, and turn farmer myself.”

“Oh, sir,” said Mrs. Poyser, rather alarmed, “you wouldn’t like it at all.  As for farming, it’s putting money into your pocket wi’ your right hand and fetching it out wi’ your left.  As fur as I can see, it’s raising victual for other folks and just getting a mouthful for yourself and your children as you go along.  Not as you’d be like a poor man as wants to get his bread—­you could afford to lose as much money as you liked i’ farming—­but it’s poor fun losing money, I should think, though I understan’ it’s what the great folks i’ London play at more than anything.  For my husband heard at market as Lord Dacey’s eldest son had lost thousands upo’ thousands to the Prince o’ Wales, and they said my lady was going to pawn her jewels to pay for him.  But you know more about that than I do, sir.  But, as for farming, sir, I canna think as you’d like it; and this house—­the draughts in it are enough to cut you through, and it’s my opinion the floors upstairs are very rotten, and the rats i’ the cellar are beyond anything.”

“Why, that’s a terrible picture, Mrs. Poyser.  I think I should be doing you a service to turn you out of such a place.  But there’s no chance of that.  I’m not likely to settle for the next twenty years, till I’m a stout gentleman of forty; and my grandfather would never consent to part with such good tenants as you.”