"How did they do it?"
"Oh, it's just a tale that's going räound—says they found some lawyer's mess in his title-deed. His father never thought of common rights when he bought the land, and it seems as how they must be written down just lik anything else.... But there's young Ben Backfield talking to Coalbran. He'll tell us, I reckon."
They went over to a man and a lad, standing together by the gingerbread stall.
"We was wondering wot yer fäather had got out o' them commissioners, Ben," said Ticehurst.
Reuben Backfield scowled. His thick black brows scowled easily, but the expression of his face was open and cheerful, would have been kindly even, were it not for a certain ruthlessness of the lips. There was more character in his face than is usual with a boy of fifteen—otherwise he looked younger than his age, for though tall and well-knit, his limbs had all the graceful immaturity and supple clumsiness one sees in the limbs of calves and foals.
"Fäather äun't got naun—haven't you heard? He made his claim, and then they asked to see the title-deeds, and it turned out as how he hadn't got no common rights at all—leastways so the lawyers said."
"But he used to send the cows on, didn't he?"
"Yes—now and agäun—didn't know it wurn't right. Seems it 'ud have been better if he'd sent 'em oftener; there's no understanding that lawyer rubbidge. Now he mayn't täake so much as a blade of grass."
"Realf of Grandturzel has got his bit all safe."