"I'll give you ten shillings a week."
"You! Who be you, master?'
"I am Maurice Malherb, of Fox Tor Farm. Work must begin in a month. I'm looking round me. My head man comes up presently. But he doesn't know Dartmoor. You appear to do so. Provided your credentials and character are good, I'll engage you on trial."
"Aw jimmery! this be great news. Ten shilling a week!"
"My workpeople will be the marrow of my farm. I know that very well."
"You'd do wise to take his wife along with him, your honour," said Uncle Smallridge. "Such a dairymaid ban't often met with. Fifteen cows she've been known to tackle with no more than help in the milking. That's three more'n any other woman I've ever heard about."
"'Tis true, your honour," declared Richard Beer; "though my own wife, 'tis true. There be some as would rob the hearse an' chase the driver—such be always crying out for help in their work; but my Dinah's different. A towser for work; an' her temper pretty near so sweet as the cream she makes."
"She shall come," answered Mr. Malherb. "My lady has the usual pin-money," he continued. "The poultry, pigs, and dairy produce accrue to her; and out of it she keeps the house, save in bread and green stuff. She will need a good dairymaid who can go to market."
"An' if there's any more men you want, Woodman here be a masterpiece at ploughing an' wall-building an' handling stone in general, ban't you, Harvey?" asked Mr. Beer, solicitous for his friend.
"Yes, I be," said Mr. Woodman. "Us was somebody in the land once, but now I've only got a little old cottage left at Huccaby, though in the past my people owned the farm there an' scores an' scores of acres. But us have gone down. I'll come if you want me; an' my son be a very handy lad. I live by cutting peat an' building walls an' such like; but 'tis a poor business, an' I'd gladly go over to you, master, if you'll give me a trial."