"I had an offer this morning from Squire Methley. He wants to rent the
Skelwith 'walk' from me. What do you think of him, sir?"
"As how?"
"As a tenant. I suppose he has money. There are about a thousand sheep
on it."
"He lives on the other side of the range, and I know him not; but our
sheep have mingled on the mountain for thirty years. I count not after
him, and he counts not after me;" and Sandal spoke coldly, like a man
defending his own order. "Are you going to rent your 'walks' so soon?
Eh? What?"
"As soon as I can advantageously."
"I bethink me. At the last shearing you were all for spinning and
weaving. The Coppice Woods were to make your bobbins; Silver Force was
to feed your engines; the little herd lads and lassies to mind your
spinning-frames. Well, well, Mr. Latrigg, such doings are not for me to
join in! I shall be sorry to see these lovely valleys turned into
weaving-shops; but you belong to a new generation, and the young know
every thing,--or they think they do."
"And you will soon join the new generation, squire. You were always
tolerant and wide awake. I never knew your prejudices beyond reasoning
with."
"Mr. Latrigg, leave my prejudices, as you call them, alone. To-day I am
not in the humor either to defend them or repent of them."
They talked for some time longer,--talked until the squire felt bored
with Steve's plans. The young man kept hoping every moment to say
something that would retrieve his previous blunders; but who can please
those who are determined not to be pleased? And yet Sandal was annoyed
at his own injustice, and then still more annoyed at Steve for causing
him to be unjust.
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