Always, at these words, he would shout. “That be it—now then, sir, would you please begin that agin?”—while, if Mrs. Bumpkin were not too busy, he would call her in to hear them too.
So there was no wonder that the action went merrily along. Once get up enthusiasm in a cause, and it is half won. Without enthusiasm, few causes can succeed against opposition. Then, again, the affidavit described Bumpkin as a Yeoman. What, I wonder, would Snooks the coal-merchant think of that?
So everything proceeded satisfactorily, and the months rolled away; the seasons came in their turn, so did the crops, so did the farrows of pigs, so did the spring chickens, and young ducks (prettiest little golden things in the world, on the water); so did Mr. Prigg, and so did a gentleman (hereafter to be called “the man,”) with whom a very convenient arrangement was made, by which Mr. Bumpkin preserved the whole of his remaining stock intact; had not in fact to advance a single penny piece more; all advances necessary for the prosecution of the action being made by the strange gentleman (whose name I did not catch) under that most convenient of all legal forms, “a Bill of Sale.”
CHAPTER IX.
A farmhouse winter fireside—a morning drive and a mutual interchange of ideas between town and country: showing how we may all learn something from one another.
I never saw the home of Farmer Bumpkin without thinking what a happy and comfortable home it was. The old elm tree that waved over the thatched roof, seemed to bless and protect it. On a winter’s evening, when Bumpkin was sitting in one corner smoking his long pipe, Mrs. Bumpkin darning her stockings, and Joe on the other side looking into the blazing fire, while the old Collie stretched himself in a snug corner beside his master, it represented a scene of comfort almost as perfect as rustic human nature was capable of enjoying. And when the wind blew through the branches of the elm over the roof, it was like music, played on purpose to heighten the enjoyment. Comfort, thou art at the evening fireside of a farm-house, if anywhere!
You should have seen Tim, when an unusual sound disturbed the harmony of this peaceful fireside. He growled first as he lay with his head resting between his paws, and just turned up his eyes to his master for approval. Then, if that warning was not sufficient, he rose and barked vociferously. Possessed, I believe, of
more insight than Bumpkin, he got into the most tremendous state of excitement whensoever anyone came from Prigg’s, and he cordially hated Prigg. But most of all was he angry when “the man” came. There was no keeping him quiet. I wonder if dogs know more about Bills of Sale than farmers. I am aware that some farmers know a good deal about them; and when they read this story, many of them will accuse me of being too personal; but Tim was a dog of strong prejudices, and I am sure he had a prejudice against money-lenders.
As the persons I have mentioned were thus sitting on this dreary evening in the month of November, suddenly, Tim sprang from his recumbent position, and barked furiously.
“Down, Tim! down, Tim!” said the farmer; “what be this, I wonder!”