The year passed, and the new year came, showing the farm still on the upward struggle, with everyone hard at work, and no one, except Reuben, enjoying it particularly. Luck again favoured Odiamthe lambing of that spring was the best for years, and as the days grew longer the furrows bloomed with tender green sproutings, and hopes of another good harvest ran high.
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Sir Ralph had never married and there was no direct heir; Anne was about as likely to produce offspring as a Latin grammar, and the property went to a distant cousin, Eustace Fleet. The very name of Bardon was now extinct. For two hundred years it had been coupled with Flightshot and Whig politics and the idea of a gentleman, till the last had finally been the downfall of the other two. The race of Bardon had died of its own virtues.
But the Anti-Inclosure party was the strongestit swept along the others as it roared down to Socknersh, brandishing sticks and stones and bottles that had all[Pg 8] appeared suddenly out of nowhere, shouting and stumbling and rolling and thumping.... Reuben was carried with it, conscious of very little save the smell of unwashed bodies and the bursting rage in his heart."'O why when we loved like the swallows in April,She was surprised at his enthusiasm. His eyes were kindling, and a blush was creeping under his sunburn."Nonsense!" returned the stranger, "I would drink ten times as much and be nothing the worse. But hark you, Stephen HolgraveI have come to you for shelter, and I expect you will give it.""I've no right to preach to you; but I think I may be allowed to ask you'is it worth while?'""I dunno."
