Farms were everywhere to let,
and a general cry to parliament for aid rang through the land. Dutton
called at the office upon business, accompanied by a young woman of
remarkable personal comeliness, but, as a very few sentences betrayed,
little or no education in the conventional sense of the word. She was
the daughter of a farmer, whom--it was no fault of hers--a change of
times had not found in a better condition for weathering them. Anne
Mosely, in fact, was a thoroughly industrious, clever farm economist.
The instant Dutton had secured an eligible farm, at his own price and
conditions, he married her; and now, on the third day after the
wedding, he had brought me the draft of lease for examination.
'You are not afraid, then,' I remarked, 'of taking a farm in these bad
times?'
'Not I--at a price. We mean to _rough_ it, Mr Sharp,' he added gaily.
'And, let me tell you, that those who will stoop to do that--I mean,
take their coats off, tuck up their sleeves, and fling appearances to
the winds--may, and will, if they understand their business, and have
got their heads screwed on right, do better here than in any of the
uncleared countries they talk so much about. You know what I told you
down at Romford. Well, we'll manage that before our hair is gray,
depend upon it, bad as the times may be--won't we, Nance?'
'We'll try, Jem,' was the smiling response.
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