"But Rankin's lease was not out, I hear, and he did not want to give up the land he and his forefathers had held under us for generations; only, when my father told him that the rent would be fifty instead of twenty pounds a year, as he had been paying, and there would no longer be free pasture for his twenty sheep, why, of course, the poor knave had to give up the farm and go in search of cheaper land. Here is the witchcraft, Margery. Who persuaded my father to do this injustice?"
"Injustice, Miles? Our father unjust? He could not be," said his sister, in a grave tone; "the land was his own to do with as he pleased."
"Ah! I thought the same at one time, little sister, but new light hath been given to the world of late upon that and many other things, and I have heard there are words in the Scriptures something like this: 'The earth is the Lord's and the fulness thereof.'"
"Yes, but our father is the landlord, Miles," said his sister, stoutly.
"Then hath he taken the place of God the Provider, and before he sent forth Rankin and the rest, he should have assured himself that other land could be had upon which they could live, and not become beggars and thieves roaming about the woods as they are now."
"But—but they went to other farms," said Margery, with a gasp.
But her brother shook his head. "There are no other farms to be had, and my father has only followed the example of other landlords and turned the corn lands into pasture, because it costs less for labour, and the price of wool is high. But what is to become of the labourers? Is it strange they turn thieves, and that the King's highway is not safe to travel even by daylight?" Miles spoke very passionately, for he had heard that morning that his father had served notice upon another farmer to give up his land in a few months, and he wanted his sister to join with him to prevent any further eviction of tenants who had tilled the soil for generations, giving employment to the poor, and bringing up their families in comfort. Why, one of his own dearest friends at Oxford was the son of a farmer like Rankin, and his mother had sent a message to him by a pedlar, urging him to get a licence to beg before he left the university, as the law allowed a university student to beg his bread, but was very hard upon farmers and labourers who had been expelled from their homes. The pedlar told him that his father and mother were living in the woods, sleeping in a cave or wherever they could find a chance shelter, but they were glad they had sent their son as a poor scholar to Oxford, for the law would allow him to beg anywhere.
"Oh, Miles, it can't be true," said his sister.
"I said the same when I heard it," replied her brother. "I laughed at the pedlar for a clever story-teller, but I have learned since I have been home that it is true enough. Men are whipped at the cart-tail, and women too, for begging for a morsel of bread to save their children from starving, when landlords like my father have taken their farms and turned them adrift upon the world. Have you heard how Jack met with his death, Margery? Forgive me, little sister, if I hurt you, but we must do what we can to prevent further wrong, though we must learn first that it is wrong," he added.
Margery dried her eyes, and looked at her brother. "You know I will do what I can," she said, "but what can a poor witless girl like me do?"