"There's not much to be said for this autumn's work, truly. We must hope for a good year coming. We shan't have such another for certain. Not that it matters so much to us, since we depend on beasts."
"'Twill mean buying a lot of hay, surely?"
"Not for us. We had a bit of luck. I saved a fortnight before my neighbours, and catched a spell of dry weather. They laughed to see me cutting so early. 'Let 'em laugh,' said Prout. 'They laugh best who laugh last.' And so it fell out."
"Most of the Lydford hay was ruined."
"And the corn on top. 'Twas beaten down, just too late for it to get up again. There'll be trouble this winter, I'm much afeared."
"There is trouble—everywhere already. And for my part I haven't got to look further than my own roof to find it."
"Very sorry to hear you say so, I'm sure. What was the end of that mine business? Somebody said they was going to try again; but that's to fling good money after bad, I should judge."
"Damn the mine: I've done with it anyhow. My wife had a hundred pound from her father when she came to me; and now 'tis gone in that swindle, along with another hundred of my own."
