On the long, sloping roof of shiny slates were painted in huge white letters the words--
LAUNDRY
WASHING DONE CHEAP
It was in vain for him to grind his teeth with rage; before the day was out, lines of fluttering garments stretched from side to side across the field, waving mocking hands, so it appeared to him as he gazed.
As if this were not enough, a row of small wooden sheds presently sprang up next the fence which bounded Ben's property upon the side nearest to Farncourt.
"Is he going to set up a zoological garden?" enquired Mr. Field indignantly, as he watched while a pen of wire-netting was carefully erected in front of each little hut.
"No, sir, it's pigs," answered the butler solemnly. "A number of them are on their way from Westmarket, I believe, and will arrive to-day."
There was no doubt when the occupants of the styes took possession of their new quarters. For two mortal hours did Mr. Field sit in misery, listening to the squeals of the rebellious porkers as they were driven into the meadow and hustled unceremoniously into their several dwellings. Each squeak seemed to go through him like a knife, and he shut himself up in his study, dreading to detect a smile upon the faces of the servants to whom he knew his humiliation must be matter of amusement, instead of the anguish which it certainly was to him.
"Anything come besides pigs?" he asked Burns, when the butler entered the room to enquire if there were letters for the post.
"They do say as Benjamin Green has bought the grocer's donkey, which he was parting with, owing to it's being such a nuisance to his neighbours, sir," replied Burns. "Never ceases braying all night, so I was told. I don't know if it's correct, but we'll soon find out for ourselves if there's any truth in the story."
It was not long before the authenticity of the report was confirmed. That very evening the hours of darkness were made hideous by the melancholy voice of the disconsolate ass, as he poured forth his woes with discordant emphasis in the ears of the sympathetic pigs.